The Speeches of Outsiders in Acts: Poetics, Theology and Historiography (Society for New Testament Studies Monograph Series)

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THE SPEECHES OF OUTSIDERS IN ACTS How does Luke’s portrait of the outsider help in exploring the theology and historiography of Acts? Previous studies of the author and his work have concentrated on the speeches given by insiders – members of the early Christian church – but until now the speeches of the outsiders have been marginalised by scholars in the field. Osvaldo Padilla takes a highly original approach by concentrating on the direct speech of such figures, arguing that the portrayal of outsiders to a religious movement should not be neglected when considering the author’s viewpoint. By exploring the place of outsiders in Old Testament and Second Temple literature, then offering comparisons with the depictions found in Acts, Padilla provides a fresh, insightful take on the subject that will prove invaluable to scholars and students of biblical and early Christian studies. O S V A L D O P A D I L L A is Assistant Professor of New Testament at Beeson Divinity School.

SOCIETY FOR NEW TESTAMENT STUDIES MONOGRAPH SERIES

General editor: J O H N

COURT

144 THE SPEECHES OF OUTSIDERS IN ACTS POETICS, THEOLOGY AND HISTORIOGRAPHY

SOCIETY FOR NEW TESTAMENT STUDIES MONOGRAPH SERIES Titles in the series 125. Jesus’ Defeat of Death PETER G. BOLT 126. From Hope to Despair in Thessalonica COLIN R. NICHOLL 127. Matthew’s Trilogy of Parables WESLEY G. OLMSTEAD 128. The People of God in the Apocalypse STEPHEN PATTEMORE

129. The Exorcism Stories in Luke–Acts TODD KLUTZ

130. Jews, Gentiles and Ethnic Reconciliation TET-LIM N. YEE 131. Ancient Rhetoric and Paul’s Apology FREDRICK J. LONG 132. Reconstructing Honor in Roman Philippi JOSEPH H. HELLEMAN 133. Theological Hermeneutics and 1 Thessalonians ANGUS PADDISON

134. Greco-Roman Culture and the Galilee of Jesus MARK A. CHANCEY 135. Christology and Discipleship in the Gospel of Mark SUZANNE WATTS HENDERSON

136. The Judaean Poor and the Fourth Gospel TIMOTHY J.M. LING 137. Paul, the Stoics, and the Body of Christ MICHELLE LEE

138. The Bridegroom Messiah and the People of God JOCELYN MCWHIRTER

139. The Torn Veil DANIEL M. GURTNER 140. Discerning the Spirits ANDRÉ MUNZINGER

141. The Sheep of the Fold EDWARD W. KLINK III 142. The Psalms of Lament in Mark’s Passion STEPHEN P. ATHERNE-KROLL 143. Cosmology and Eschatology in Hebrews KENNETH L. SCHENCK

The Speeches of Outsiders in Acts Poetics, Theology and Historiography OSVALDO PADILLA

CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS

Cambridge, New York, Melbourne, Madrid, Cape Town, Singapore, São Paulo Cambridge University Press The Edinburgh Building, Cambridge CB2 8RU, UK Published in the United States of America by Cambridge University Press, New York www.cambridge.org Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/9780521899819 © Osvaldo Padilla 2008 This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to the provision of relevant collective licensing agreements, no reproduction of any part may take place without the written permission of Cambridge University Press. First published in print format 2008

ISBN-13

978-0-511-43739-7

eBook (EBL)

ISBN-13

978-0-521-89981-9

hardback

Cambridge University Press has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of urls for external or third-party internet websites referred to in this publication, and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

Dedicated to Fabian and Julian Pizzo, with utmost admiration and thanks

CONTENTS

Acknowledgements Abbreviations 1

page xii xiii

Introduction 1.1 The speeches of outsiders in Acts: uncharted territory 1.2 Method 1.2.1 Narrative criticism 1.2.2 Rhetorical criticism 1.2.3 Dramatic irony 1.3 Structure and procedure

5 8 8 12 13 14

2

The current state of research on the speeches of Acts 2.1 Ferdinand Christian Baur 2.2 Henry Joel Cadbury 2.3 F. F. Bruce 2.4 Martin Dibelius 2.5 Marion Soards 2.6 Todd Penner 2.7 Conclusion

16 17 23 25 27 33 35 38

3

The speeches of outsiders in selected biblical and Second Temple narrative literature 3.1 Ezra 3.1.1 The speeches 3.1.2 Conclusion 3.2 Daniel 3.2.1 The speeches 3.2.2 Conclusion 3.3 First and Second Maccabees 3.3.1 The speeches 3.3.2 Conclusion

42 44 48 54 55 61 63 64 67 73

1

ix

x

Contents 3.4 Third Maccabees 3.4.1 The speech of Philopator 3.4.2 Conclusion 3.5 Judith 3.5.1 The speech 3.5.2 Conclusion 3.6 Josephus 3.6.1 The speech 3.6.2 Conclusion 3.7 Other writings 3.7.1 Greek Esther Addition E 3.7.2 Letter of Aristeas 3.7.3 Fragmentary Hellenistic Jewish authors 3.8 Conclusion

74 79 80 80 84 87 88 95 98 99 99 101 102 103

4

The Gamaliel speech 4.1 Context 4.2 The narrative and the speech 4.2.1 Setting 4.2.2 Characters 4.2.3 Plot 4.2.4 The speech 4.3 The function of the speech 4.4 Conclusion

106 106 107 107 109 115 120 127 132

5

The speech of Gallio 5.1 Context 5.2 The narrative and speeches at Corinth 5.2.1 Setting 5.2.2 Characters 5.2.3 Plot 5.2.4 The speeches 5.3 The function of the speech of Gallio 5.4 Conclusion

135 135 137 137 139 145 153 158 162

6

The speeches of Demetrius and the Ephesian Town Clerk 6.1 Context 6.2 The narrative and speeches at Ephesus 6.2.1 Setting 6.2.2 Characters 6.2.3 Plot

163 163 164 164 169 175

Contents 6.2.4 The speech of Demetrius 6.2.5 The speech of the Town Clerk 6.3 Conclusion 7

8

The speeches of Claudius Lysias, Tertullus, and Festus 7.1 Context 7.2 The narrative and written speech of Claudius Lysias 7.2.1 Setting 7.2.2 Characters 7.2.3 Plot 7.2.4 The written speech of Claudius Lysias 7.2.5 The function of Claudius Lysias’ speech 7.2.6 Conclusion 7.3 The narrative and speech of Tertullus 7.3.1 Setting 7.3.2 Characters 7.3.3 Plot 7.3.4 The speech of Tertullus 7.3.5 The function of the speech of Tertullus 7.3.6 Conclusion 7.4 The speech of Festus 7.4.1 Setting 7.4.2 Characters 7.4.3 The speech of Festus 7.4.4 The function of the speech of Festus 7.4.5 Conclusion 7.5 Conclusion

xi 178 182 187 189 189 190 190 193 196 200 204 206 207 207 210 217 218 221 223 224 224 226 229 230 231 231

Conclusions 8.1 Review and summary 8.2 The speeches of outsiders and the historical context of Luke–Acts’ readers: a community in need of identity reassurance 8.3 The speeches of outsiders and the historiographic orientation of Luke–Acts

233 233

Bibliography Scripture index Index of ancient authors General index

241 256 260 263

235 237

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

This study is a revised version of my PhD thesis, submitted to the University of Aberdeen in 2006. I must first record thanks to my Doktorvater, Dr Andrew Clarke, for his careful supervision of this project. Working under Dr Clarke has been a pleasure, as he has given me liberty to explore my ideas, while at the same time gently pulling me back from unproductive avenues. His hospitality and humour have been most refreshing. I wish to thank the examiners of the original thesis, Rev. Prof. Loveday Alexander (University of Sheffield) and Dr Peter Williams (University of Aberdeen/Tyndale House, Cambridge). Their criticisms and suggestions have made this work better. Remaining deficiencies are of course my own. I would also like to thank Prof. Daniel Marguerat of Université de Lausanne, Switzerland, for the opportunity to spend several months in Lausanne and use the superb facilities of the university and the Institut Romand des Sciences Bibliques. I am grateful to Angela, for taking time from her own studies to listen to my ideas. To the members of the Bridge of Don Baptist Church in Aberdeen, Scotland, I am most grateful for their opening their arms and receiving me unconditionally, while knowing that my stay would be only temporary. I am particularly grateful to David and Halina Welch, who made me feel like I had a family in Scotland. I wish to thank my mother, Olga Diaz, for encouraging phone calls and consistent prayer. To La Iglesia Hispana de Boca Raton, in Boca Raton, Florida, I am extremely grateful for their continuous and faithful support. This book is dedicated to Fabian and Julian Pizzo, whose incomparable generosity continues to amaze me. They have demonstrated profound love and sincerity. Without their incredible liberality this study could not have been started, much less finished. Thank you. xii

ABBREVIATIONS

AB AcOr AGJU AnBib ANRW

ANTC APOT BAFCS BAR BETL BGBE Bib BZNW CBQ CBQMS CBR CP GBS GNS HDR HKAT HTKNT HTR ICC

Anchor Bible Acta orientalia Arbeiten zur Geschichte des antiken Judentums und des Urchristentums Analecta biblica Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt: Geschichte und Kultur Roms im Spiegel der neueren Forschung, ed. H. Temporini and W. Haase. Berlin, 1972– Abingdon New Testament Commentary The Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha of the Old Testament, ed. R.H. Charles. 2 vols. Oxford, 1913 The Book of Acts in its First Century Setting Biblical Archaeological Review Bibliotheca ephemeridum theologicarum lovaniensium Beiträge zur Geschichte der biblischen Exegese Biblica Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft Catholic Biblical Quarterly Catholic Biblical Quarterly Monograph Series Currents in Biblical Research Classical Philology Guides to Biblical Scholarship Good News Studies Harvard Dissertations in Religion Handkommentar zum Alten Testament Herders Theologischer Kommentar zum Neuen Testament Harvard Theological Review International Critical Commentary xiii

xiv

Abbreviations

Int JAL JBL JHS JRA JRS JSJSup JSNT JSNTSup JSOT JSOTSup JSP JSPSup JTS KEKNT LEC LSJ

NICNT NovT NTS NTTS OTL OTP PW

PWSup RB RivB SacPag SBLBSNA SBLDS

Interpretation Jewish Apocryphal Literature Series Journal of Biblical Literature Journal of Hellenic Studies Journal of Roman Archaeology Journal of Roman Studies Supplements for the Journal for the Study of Judaism Journal for the Study of the New Testament Journal for the Study of the New Testament, Supplement Series Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Journal for the Study of the Old Testament, Supplement Series Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha, Supplement Series Journal for Theological Studies Kritisch-exegetischer Kommentar über das Neue Testament Library of Early Christianity Liddell, H.G., R. Scott, and H.S. Jones, A Greek– English Lexicon. 9th edn. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996. New International Commentary on the New Testament Novum Testamentum New Testament Studies New Testament Tools and Studies Old Testament Library Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, ed. J.H. Charlesworth, 2 vols. New York, 1983 Pauly, A.F. Paulys Realencyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft. New edition G. Wissowa. 49 vols. Munich, 1980 Supplement to PW Revue biblique Rivista biblica italiana Sacra Pagina Society of Biblical Literature Biblical Scholarship in North America Society of Biblical Literature Dissertation Series

Abbreviations SBLEJL SBLMS SBLSBS SBLSCS SBLTT SBS SJLA SNTSMS SSN SUNT SwJT TNTC TQ TSAJ TynBul VT WBC WMANT WUNT ZNW

xv

Society of Biblical Literature Early Judaism and its Literature Society of Biblical Literature Monograph Series Society of Biblical Literature Sources for Biblical Study Society of Biblical Literature Septuagint and Cognate Studies Society of Biblical Literature Texts and Translations Stuttgarter Bibelstudien Studies in Judaism in Late Antiquity Society for New Testament Studies Monograph Series Studia semitica neerlandica Studien zur Umwelt des Neuen Testaments Southwestern Journal of Theology Tyndale New Testament Commentary Theologische Quartalschrift Texte und Studien zum antiken Judentum Tyndale Bulletin Vetus Testamentum Word Biblical Commentary Wissenschaftliche Monographien zum Alten und Neuen Testament Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft und die Kunde der älteren Kirche

1 INTRODUCTION

It is thus the growth of his own understanding of himself that he pursues through his understanding of the other. Every hermeneutics is thus, explicitly or implicitly, self-understanding by means of understanding others.1 The significance that Ricœur assigns to the hermeneutical Other (in this case a reference to remoteness of culture and time) in the purpose of interpretation can be equally important for the understanding of community identity-formation. In the latter case, however, the Other refers to individuals and the communities that they make up. In other words, it seems that identity cannot fully be grasped without resorting to comparison with those who are different from ‘us’ and/or who often antagonise ‘us’. To be sure, other aspects are important in the forging of identity: memory, rituals, and texts, to mention some. Nevertheless, when asked to define our identity, it is telling that we often have to resort to comparisons with others in order to achieve clarity. Implied in this mode of definition is the idea of difference.2 The Oxford English Dictionary could not escape bringing in the Other when defining identity. Its second entry on the word states: ‘The sameness of a person or thing at all times or in all circumstances;

1 Paul Ricœur, The Conflict of Interpretations: Essays in Hermeneutics, trans. Kathleen McLaughlin (Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press, 1974), p. 17. 2 This view on the construction of community identity is similar to what Manuel Castells, The Power of Identity (Oxford: Blackwell, 1997), p. 8, has recently called ‘Resistance Identity’, which is ‘generated by those actors that are in positions/conditions devalued and/or stigmatized by the logic of domination, thus building trenches of resistance and survival on the basis of principles different from, or opposed to, those permeating the institutions of society…’ See also David Lowenthal, ‘Identity, Heritage, and History’, in Commemorations: The Politics of National Identity, ed. John R. Gillis (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1994), pp. 46–54.

1

2

The speeches of outsiders in Acts

the condition or fact that a person or thing is itself and not something else; individuality, personality.’ Equally, the biblical tradition is fond of bringing in the Other to aid in the construction of the identity of the people of God: ‘Do not defile yourselves in any of these ways, for by all these practices the nations I am casting out before you have defiled themselves’ (Lev. 18.24). The holiness of the Israelites, a quality that was supposed to be one of their defining traits, is partly defined by a contrast to the practices of the other nations. In the New Testament, Jesus inculcated in his disciples their distinctive identity by contrasting what was to be their measure for greatness (i.e. service) and comparing that to the measure used by the Other: ‘The kings of the Gentiles lord it over them; and those in authority over them are called benefactors. But not so with you …’ (Lk. 22.25–6). Identity in the biblical tradition is not just a question of distinct praxis; it is also a historical matter. That is to say, the people of God could understand who they were by reflecting on what they believed God to have done among them in the course of history as opposed to what he had done with the Other. Thus, Moses latches on to divine action done in time and space to highlight the identity of the Hebrews: ‘For how shall it be known that I have found favour in your sight, I and your people, unless you go with us? In this way, we shall be distinct, I and your people, from every people on the face of the earth’ (Ex. 33.16). It is perceiving the divine presence accompanying them (not the Other) that will assure Moses of his and the Israelites’ identity as the people of God. Similarly, the author of Ezra could discern God’s intentions in history by reflecting on what God was doing with the Other, in this case the foreign monarch Cyrus: ‘In the first year of King Cyrus of Persia, in order that the word of the Lord by the mouth of Jeremiah might be accomplished, the Lord stirred up the spirit of King Cyrus of Persia …’ (Ezra 1.1). These observations lead me to hazard a generalisation: our perceptions of God’s actions in history vis-à-vis the Other are as crucial in constructing our own identity as are the actions we perceive God doing directly to ‘us’. Identity and history, in fact, have been joined in the understanding of historiography from approximately the middle of the twentieth century. Contrary to the notion of history preached by positivists, in which the task of the historian was viewed as a labour of scientific, detached objectivity that would produce assuredly impartial results, more recent research has affirmed the inescapability of our subjectivity, even in such work as history writing: there is no such thing as ‘the

Introduction

3

view from nowhere’ and history is more than dry chronicling.3 If the writing of history is done not just for the purpose of producing information, then there are additional motivating factors, among which is the construction of community identity by a fresh interpretation of the past. Paul Ricœur has called this ‘poetic’ history, where the foundational narratives of a group are exploited by the historian in order to provide self-definition for the community.4 Some students of the book of Acts, to the extent that they view the work as belonging to the genre of history, have also argued that its purpose was to provide self-definition for its readers.5 For example, Gregory Sterling, by examining a number of ancient authors from Berossus to Josephus, suggests that he has uncovered a literary genre

3 On the objectivity versus subjectivity question in historiography, see the excellent work of Peter Novick, That Noble Dream: The ‘Objectivity Question’ and the American Historical Profession (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988). See also Arnaldo Momigliano, ‘Historicism Revisited’, in Essays in Ancient and Modern Historiography (Oxford: Blackwell, 1977), pp. 365–73. 4 Paul Ricœur, ‘Philosophies critiques de l’histoire: Recherche, explication, écriture’, in Philosophical Problems Today, vol. 1, ed. Guttorm Fløistad (Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic Publishers, 1994), pp. 139–201. 5 The current project subscribes to the view of Acts as belonging to the category of the historical monograph in its scope, a Hebrew understanding of history in its conception of historiography, and Hellenistic history in some of its topoi. It is my view that in its totality Acts is far closer to Hellenistic Jewish histories, say, 1 and 2 Maccabees, than to classical (e.g. Herodotus, Thucydides, Xenophon) or Hellenistic historians (e.g. Polybius, Dionysius of Halicarnassus). This assertion will be further substantiated in chapter three. For Acts as a historical monograph, see Eckhard Plümacher, ‘Die Apostelgeschichte als historische Monographie’, in Les Actes des Apôtres: Tradition, rédaction, théologie, ed. Jacob Kremer (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1977), pp. 457–66; Darryl Palmer, ‘Acts and the Ancient Historical Monograph’, in The Book of Acts in its Ancient Literary Setting, ed. Bruce Winter and Andrew Clarke (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1993), pp. 1–30. On the Hebrew historiography underpinning Acts, see Loveday Alexander, ‘Marathon or Jericho? Reading Acts in Dialogue with Biblical and Greek Historiography’, in Auguries: The Jubilee Volume of the Sheffield Department of Biblical Studies, ed. D.J.A. Clines and S.D. Moore (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998), pp. 93–125; Brian S. Rosner, ‘Acts and Biblical History’, in The Book of Acts in its Ancient Literary Setting, pp. 65–82. On Acts’ imitation of Hellenistic historiography (and novels) such as in prefaces, the use of letters, speeches, style, and topoi, see Eckhard Plümacher, Lukas als hellenistischer Schriftsteller (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1972). My assertion that Acts belongs to the historical genre does not imply that its contents are historically accurate: that decision must be made upon a close study of the author’s performance. Thomas E. Phillips, ‘The Genre of Acts: Moving toward a Consensus’? CBR 4 (2006): 365–96, suggests that today’s dominant view of Acts with respect to its genre is the following: ‘Is Acts history or fiction? In the eyes of most scholars, it is history – but not the kind of history that preludes [sic] fiction’ (p. 385). Whether this is indeed a consensus is open to debate.

4

The speeches of outsiders in Acts

which he calls ‘apologetic historiography’. He offers the following definition: Apologetic historiography is the story of a subgroup of people in an extended prose narrative written by a member of the group who follows the group’s own traditions but Hellenizes them in an effort to establish the identity of the group within the setting of the larger world.6 Sterling believes that Luke–Acts is an example of this genre. Whether he has actually uncovered a new genre rather than elements that were constitutive to an already existing one is not our issue here.7 What is important to note is that at least in some quarters of ancient history authors wrote to aid their community in self-definition.8 Insofar as Acts is viewed as history, it is possible that this was also one of its author’s purposes.9 At this point it is necessary to hark back to the words with which I began this chapter, namely, that in the construction and strengthening of a religious community’s identity it is not unusual for that community to resort to the Other: what it believes of God’s activities towards the outsider helps it to orient itself concerning what it believes to be its place in God’s plans. If it is agreed that in some sense Luke’s10 aim in his two-volume work was the formation and reinforcing of a Christian community’s identity, it is then legitimate to ask what place he gives to the Other in his narrative.

6 Gregory E. Sterling, Historiography and Self-Definition: Josephos, Luke–Acts and Apologetic Historiography (Leiden: Brill, 1992), p. 17. 7 Criticisms of Sterling, particularly with the question of genre, may be found in Palmer, ‘Acts and the Ancient Historical Monograph’, pp. 15–18. 8 As Erich Gruen, Heritage and Hellenism: The Reinvention of Jewish Tradition (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998) has demonstrated, Jewish historical writings from the Hellenistic period also attempted to strengthen the identity of its Jewish readers. 9 See Daniel Marguerat, The First Christian Historian: Writing the ‘Acts of the Apostles’, trans. Ken McKinney, Gregory J. Laughery, and Richard Bauckham (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), p. 34: ‘The closest categorization [of Acts] is a historiography with an apologetic aim, which permits Christianity both to understand and to speak itself. Its status as a narrative of beginnings assures the Lucan work a clear identity function.’ See also Todd Penner, In Praise of Christian Origins: Stephen and the Hellenists in Lukan Apologetic Historiography (New York: T&T Clark, 2004), pp. 223–61. 10 I use ‘Luke’ to refer to the author of the Gospel that bears that name as well as the author of the Acts of the Apostles. A connection with Luke ‘the beloved physician’ of Col. 4.14 is not implied.

Introduction 1.1

5

The speeches of outsiders in Acts: uncharted territory

Luke, in fact, devotes a considerable amount of space to outsiders in Acts.11 This is readily visible if we focus on their speeches.12 These are the speeches of Gamaliel, Gallio, Demetrius, the Ephesian Town Clerk, Claudius Lysias (written speech), Tertullus, and Festus.13 That is, a total of seven speeches. It may come as a surprise that Peter and Paul’s speeches – to mention the two principal characters of Acts – amount to eight and nine respectively.14 This comparison may appear to be misleading since we are contrasting individuals (Peter and Paul) with a group (non-Christians). Nevertheless, a plausible case will be made in this project to the effect that Luke – although admirably portraying the individualities of each speaker – presents the group of outsiders as a single character. If the amount of speeches uttered by outsiders is almost equal in number to those spoken by the principal characters of Acts, then it is legitimate to ask why their speeches, as a group, have never been given substantial treatment. Studies on the speeches of Peter abound. Equally, an enormous number of works on Paul’s speeches has been produced. The speeches of these two characters have also been united under the label of ‘mission speeches’ and examined as such.15 11 The term ‘outsider’ is used in this work to refer to those characters in Acts who do not hold to the theological point of view of the implied author. As such, other terms such as ‘opponents’ and ‘non-Christians’ may be appropriate in some contexts. The posture of these characters towards the Jesus movement varies from those who actively oppose the community (e.g. Demetrius the silversmith, Tertullus), and may thus unquestioningly be labelled ‘opponents’, to those who, while not in principle ‘friendly’ toward the Christians, nevertheless do not seek their suppression (e.g. Gallio, Claudius Lysias). Their common denominator is a lack of allegiance to the theology of the implied author. 12 I have followed Marion Soards, The Speeches in Acts: Their Content, Context, and Concerns (Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1994), p. 20, in defining a speech as ‘a deliberately formulated address made to a group of listeners’. 13 There are further examples of direct speech by outsiders: the owners of the slavegirl in Philippi (16.20–1), the unconverted Jews in Thessalonica (17.6–7), and the Roman Jews (28.21–2). It appears that Luke has cast the words of these outsiders in direct speech primarily to provide variation to his narrative. Consequently, I have excluded these ‘speeches’ from my examination. 14 Peter: 1.16–25; 2.14–26; 3.12–26; 4.8–12; 5.29–32; 10.34–43; 11.5–17; 15.7–11. Paul: 13.16–41; 14.15–17; 17.22–31; 20.17–35; 22.3–21; 24.10–21; 26.2–29; 27.21–6; 28.17–20. 15 The literature on Peter’s speeches is too vast to cite in detail. I refer the reader to Hans F. Bayer, ‘The Preaching of Peter in Acts’, in Witness to the Gospel: The Theology of Acts, ed. I. Howard Marshall and David Peterson (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1998), pp. 257–74, where a substantial amount of literature on Peter’s speeches is

6

The speeches of outsiders in Acts

Nevertheless, the speeches of opponents, as a group, have been neglected. One suspects that this is due to the fact that the majority of studies on the speeches have focused on extracting, from the speeches, either the kerygma of the early church or (in most cases) the theology of Luke, or both: and what better place to mine for these than the speeches of the principal spokesmen of the primitive church.16 These are no doubt important and valuable studies. But I ask: can we not learn about the theology of Luke by looking at the speeches that he assigns to outsiders? Is our understanding of his theology to be gleaned solely from the words of the apostolic group? Here we may employ an analogy with another book, chosen rather randomly: is not our grasp of the thought of the author of 1 Maccabees made firmer by looking not only at the words of the Hasmoneans, but also at the words which he assigns to Antiochus IV? In fact, our understanding of the worldview of the author of 1 Maccabees would be much poorer if we neglected, in our construction of it, his characterisation of the outsider Antiochus IV. To use another analogy, this time from Pauline studies, it is interesting to note that considerable effort has been made in attempting to detect, from Paul’s statements, the identity and views of his opponents. Jerry L. Sumney can state: ‘Few topics continually attract the attention of scholars and affect the interpretation of Pauline letters and early Christianity as much as the question of Paul’s opponents.’17 One of the reasons why scholars invest extensive energy in this quest is their belief that the arguments and theology of Paul would be made clearer if they could build a profile of his enemies. In other words, it is believed that identifying Paul’s opponents can help us recover the apostle’s own ideology. It is thus puzzling that New Testament scholarship has yet to explore the implications of Acts’ presentation of the opponents of the Jesus movement, even though – whether depicted justly or not – the words and actions of the opponents are allowed to be heard and seen ‘directly’, something that cannot be said of the Pauline epistles, documented. The literature on Paul’s speeches is even larger. A good starting place is G. Walter Hansen, ‘The Preaching and Defence of Paul’, in Witness to the Gospel, pp. 295–324. Erich Grässer’s survey, Forschungen zur Apostelgeschichte (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001), pp. 99–115, although published recently, is severely outdated and limited with respect to studies on Paul’s speeches. For the mission speeches, see Ulrich Wilckens, Die Missionsreden der Apostelgeschichte: Form- und traditionsgeschichtliche Untersuchungen, 3rd edn (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1974). 16 In addition, many studies have concentrated on the historicity of the speeches. See further chapter two. 17 Jerry L. Sumney, ‘Servants of Satan’, ‘False Brothers’ and Other Opponents of Paul (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999), p. 13.

Introduction

7

where the reader can only, as it were, listen to one side of the conversation.18 The current project argues that, by using the speeches of outsiders in Acts as a lens, much can be learned, not only about their function in the narrative, but also about the theology/historiography of Luke, his purposes in composing Luke–Acts, and its generic orientation. The present work attempts to shed light on these issues by means of the hitherto unexplored path of the speeches of outsiders. Prior to bringing this section to a close, it is important to anticipate – and attempt to refute – an argument that would challenge the legitimacy of the above enterprise. It may be objected that the introduction of speeches of outsiders is simply in keeping with the procedure of classical and Hellenistic historians. That is to say, historians included both sides of an argument by presenting speeches from the different competing parties.19 This was done, at least in theory, to vouchsafe against partiality: by presenting both sides of the argument a measure of objectivity and non-partisanship was introduced, two defining features of ancient historia.20 The inclusion of the speech of the outsider (assuming that the historian did have a preferred point of view) was de rigueur. It could thus be argued that, in including the speeches of outsiders in Acts, Luke was not investing them with any special significance. Rather, he was just performing his duty as a conscientious historian. Therefore, a study of these speeches would yield a meagre harvest. The above objection, however, would be unsustainable for the following reason: with the exception of the pair of speeches by Tertullus and Paul, Luke does not place the speeches of outsiders side by side with the speeches of insiders so as to contrast with the latter’s arguments.21 That is to say, Luke allows the speeches of outsiders to stand on their own, thus suggesting that they are vital components in the configuration of his opus. Not only is this a clue that 18 For my suggestions of why the voice of the opponent has been neglected in Acts, see chapter two. 19 Many examples could be given, but one may point to two cases in Thucydides, since he mastered this technique: Corinthians versus Athenians (1.68–78) among many others; and, between individuals, Archidamus versus Sthenelaidas (1.80–6). 20 See Charles W. Fornara, The Nature of History in Ancient Greece and Rome (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1983), pp. 62–3. 21 The opposite is also the case on occasion: Christians are accused, but Luke does not allow them, by the medium of speech, to answer the charges. See Loveday Alexander, ‘The Acts of the Apostles as an Apologetic Text’, in Apologetics in the Roman Empire: Pagans, Jews, and Christians, ed. Mark Edwards et al. (Oxford: Oxford University Press,1999), pp. 33–8.

8

The speeches of outsiders in Acts

Luke may not be operating strictly within the guidelines of GrecoRoman historians, but it also highlights the necessity of viewing the outsiders’ speeches as important elements in Luke’s presentation. 1.2

Method

In keeping with my previous assertion as to the historiographic orientation of Acts, the current project operates under the conviction that the contents of Acts were meant to have referential function. Put differently, the readers expected that the story told would go beyond the ‘closed world’ of the text to events that purportedly took place in the real world.22 As such, it will be necessary to be abreast of the historical, religious, and social dynamics of the milieu encoded in the text. Consequently, more ‘traditional’ historically oriented disciplines such as inscriptions and literary parallels will be employed. In addition, since the object of my study is in the medium of narrative and speeches, two other methods will be used. 1.2.1

Narrative criticism

The terms above often serve as a catchall phrase to designate a literary method that can include an author-centred (expressive), text-centred (objective), or reader-centred (pragmatic) orientation.23 It is thus necessary to locate my method with further exactitude. One helpful way to give precision to my approach is by visualising a spectrum with composition criticism on the left end of the scale and deconstruction at the other end. Between these two poles, moving left to right, are methods such as narrative criticism, structuralism, phenomenological criticism (e.g. Wolfgang Iser), interpretative communities (e.g. Stanley Fish), and deconstruction (e.g. Jacques Derrida).24 My approach would fall between composition criticism and narrative criticism. I flesh out this position below. Composition criticism emerged from redaction criticism. Its break with redaction criticism came in its desire to read the entire narrative, not just the variations with the other Synoptics (which in any case was 22 Again, this is not a verdict on the veracity of Acts: it simply attempts to guard against certain excesses of narrative criticism. See further above. 23 See Daniel Marguerat and Yvan Bourquin, Pour lire les récits bibliques: Initiation à l’analyse narrative, 3rd edn (Paris: Les Éditions du Cerf, 2004), pp. 8–18. 24 I am indebted to Mark A. Powell, What is Narrative Criticism? (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1990), p. 16, for this taxonomy.

Introduction

9

not an issue with respect to Acts). Continuity with redaction criticism rested in its insistence that the biblical narrative be used as a vehicle of the author’s theology.25 Narrative criticism, on the other hand, focused on the story, with theology being a secondary aim. Stephen Moore states the difference very well: For composition critics, the meaning resides in the text’s theological (or ideational) content. This content is separable in principle from the narrative form; narrative is the vehicle of theology. Narrative criticism, in contrast, is a formalist criticism; the meaning of the biblical text is located in the details of the structure. What the text says cannot legitimately be extrapolated from how it is said.26 In practice, although many New Testament scholars have been placed under the banner of narrative criticism, their approach actually falls somewhere between composition criticism and narrative criticism. David P. Moessner, for example, states the following concerning his method: ‘[A]ny investigation of its [the Central Section of Luke] theology must first inquire about the intrinsic narrative configuration of the section itself as well as its relation to the full narrative shape of Luke–Acts’.27 Robert Tannehill, another influential figure with respect to literary studies of Luke–Acts, similarly states: I make use of narrative criticism in order to understand this narrative’s message, a message that cannot be confined to theological statements but encompasses a rich set of attitudes and images that are embedded in the story and offered for our admiration and imitation … In this volume I seek to use narrative criticism to explore how Acts conveys its complex message. But then he adds: ‘when we study a narrative as rhetoric and discover that certain values and beliefs are consistently advocated within it, 25 Stephen D. Moore, Literary Criticism and the Gospels: The Theoretical Challenge (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1989), pp. 3–4. Notable representatives of composition criticism with respect to Luke–Acts include Robert O’Toole, The Unity of Luke’s Theology (Wilmington, DE: Michael Glazier, 1984), especially pp. 9–10, 11; Charles Talbert, Reading Luke: A Literary and Theological Commentary on the Third Gospel (New York: Crossroads, 1982); idem, Reading Acts: A Literary and Theological Commentary on the Acts of the Apostles (New York: Crossroads, 1997). 26 Moore, Literary Criticism and the Gospels, p. 10. 27 David P. Moessner, The Lord of the Banquet: The Literary and Theological Significance of the Lukan Travel Narrative (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1989), p. 6.

10

The speeches of outsiders in Acts

theological questions cannot be ignored’.28 I offer one final quotation from Beverly Gaventa: ‘Lukan theology is intricately and irreversibly bound up with the story he tells and cannot be separated from it. An attempt to do justice to the theology of Acts must struggle to reclaim the character of Acts as a narrative.’29 The present method is situated within this tradition, concentrating both on the rhetorical (i.e. configuration and persuasion) dimensions of Acts as well as on its ideational message. I summarise the salient features of my approach below. 1. I shall concentrate on the final form of the text (Luke–Acts), working under the supposition that it exhibits unity at the theological level.30 2. My goal is to examine the speeches of outsiders, not for their historicity, but in order to understand their function in the narrative as a whole. Furthermore, the speeches will not be primarily used as ‘windows’ to look behind the text; my aim is rather to understand the 28 Robert Tannehill, The Narrative Unity of Luke–Acts: A Literary Interpretation, vol. 2 (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1990), p. 4. 29 Beverly Gaventa, ‘Toward a Theology of Acts: Reading and Rereading,’ Interpretation 42 (1988): 150. 30 Here the words of Daniel Marguerat, The First Christian Historian, pp. 44–5, are very helpful:

What is ‘unity’ in narrative? If unity of thought in the Pauline correspondence can be deduced from a consistent vocabulary, a uniform use of conceptual tools, and a coherence in the argumentative discussions, what can be said of narrative? Are the same indications discernible? Evidently not. A narrator does not expound his views as systematically as in an argumentative genre; ideas are transmitted indirectly through characters, or distilled in (implicit and explicit) commentaries. A storyteller like Luke does not always clearly present what he thinks. In brief, while narrativity in no way excludes coherence in the author’s thought system, such coherence does not reveal itself in an argumentative type of logic … I defend the following thesis: the narrative of Luke–Acts does aim to provide a unifying effect at the theological level; but this unity is not announced in the text; it is devolved as a task to the reader who must construct this unity in the course of reading. The above statement is applicable both to the unity of thought in Luke and Acts as well as to the material unity of the two volumes. On the latter, see the important recent discussion generated by Andrew Gregory, The Reception of Luke and Acts in the Period before Irenaeus: Looking for Luke in the Second Century (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003), who argues that there is no evidence, prior to Irenaeus, suggesting that Luke and Acts were read as one work. This conclusion is taken up by C. Kavin Rowe, ‘History, Hermeneutics and the Unity of Luke–Acts’, JSNT 28 (2005): 131–57, who asks some important hermeneutical questions in light of Gregory’s thesis. Rowe is answered by Luke T. Johnson, ‘Literary Criticism of Luke–Acts: Is Reception-History Pertinent?’, JSNT 28 (2005): 159–62, who basically argues that the circumstantial and temporary gap between Irenaeus and the first readers of Luke and Acts makes it tenuous to put too much weight on reception-history to adjudicate on the unity or disunity of Luke and Acts.

Introduction

11

how and the what that they are communicating. Nevertheless, unlike many literary approaches that completely bracket out historical queries, I will offer some hypotheses – flowing from my close reading of the speeches – that may shed light on historical questions. In the Conclusion to this work I shall propose a link between Luke’s use of the speeches of outsiders and the historical situation of the real readers of Luke–Acts. In this manner I unite literary observations with historical interests.31 3. Although I shall use the very helpful category of the ‘implied author’, I shall be cautious not completely to sever this entity from the ‘real author’. The concept of the implied author (‘a selecting, structuring, and presiding intelligence, discerned indirectly in the text, like God in his/her creation’32) is useful when examining transparently fictional works; however, it is doubtful that in a narrative of historiographic orientation (such as Acts) the real author wanted to be completely distinguished from the persona of the implied author.33 It must be remembered that the concept of the implied author (as well as many other concepts used by biblical literary critics) ultimately arose from New Criticism, a reactionary discipline that insisted on the autonomy of the text. As such, the postulation of the disembodied implied author was a de facto consequence.34 By contrast, the 31 Werner Kelber’s criticism, ‘The Authority of the Word in St. John’s Gospel: Charismatic Speech, Narrative Text, Logocentric Metaphysics’, Oral Tradition 2 (1987): 127, is a helpful corrective against an absolute fragmentation between literary and historical studies:

A categorical distinction [may not] be drawn between the gospels as mirrors vis-à-vis windows. Precisely because they participate in the ongoing discourse of tradition, narrative gospels contain traces of absent others, which, while integrated into their respective gospel worlds, may serve as windows for those who know the scope of the tradition. When viewed from these perspectives, therefore, opposites such as … literary versus historical readings, and mirror versus window views of language dissolve into the single overriding reality of interpretation. On the importance of joining literary and historical studies, see further the stimulating work of Petri Merenlahti, Poetics for the Gospels? Rethinking Narrative Criticism (London: T&T Clark, 2002), pp. 116–17. 32 Moore, Literary Criticism and the Gospels, p. 46. 33 Ignorance of this leads James Dawsey, The Lukan Voice: Confusion and Irony in the Gospel of Luke (Macon, GA: Mercer University, 1986), to conclude that Luke–Acts has an ‘unreliable narrator’ who differs in point of view from its real author. For criticism of such anachronism, see Merenlahti, Poetics for the Gospels, pp. 9–12. 34 On New Criticism, also known as American Formalism, see M.H. Abrams, The Mirror and the Lamp: Romantic Theory and the Critical Tradition (New York: Oxford University Press, 1953), p. 27.

12

The speeches of outsiders in Acts

current project does not propose a sharp dichotomy between the real author, the implied author, and the narrator. Consequently, I shall use the terms ‘Luke’, ‘author’, ‘implied author’, and ‘narrator’ interchangeably. 1.2.2

Rhetorical criticism35

Given that the object of my study is also speech material, the above method serves as an appropriate tool. Ancient rhetoric, as is well known, had to do with persuasion; more specifically, it dealt with questions of persuasion through speech, either spoken or written.36 The careful concoction and delivery of speeches was a very ancient Hellenic practice37 that had permeated Mediterranean culture, not excluding Palestine.38 The essentials of speech construction and delivery could be obtained through several venues: tertiary education with the rhetor,39 multiple civic and judicial occasions,40 and by listening to the displays of itinerant sophists.41 Given the dominance of rhetoric in the ancient Mediterranean milieu, it is quite possible that Luke had absorbed some of its rudimentary tenets, even if (as is likely) he did not reach the tertiary level of education within a Greek context.42 From the above observations it follows that at least some readers of 35 The current section is restricted to ‘primary’ rhetoric. For the differences between ‘primary’ and ‘secondary’ rhetoric, see Philip E. Satterthwaite, ‘Acts Against the Background of Classical Rhetoric’, in The Book of Acts in its Ancient Literary Setting, pp. 338–9. 36 See George A. Kennedy, A New History of Classical Rhetoric (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1994). This book is a revision and abridgement of Kennedy’s three previous works: The Art of Persuasion in Greece, The Art of Rhetoric in the Roman World, and Greek Rhetoric under Christian Emperors. 37 According to Quintilian, Inst. Or. 10.1.47, dating back to the Homeric period: ‘does not Book Nine [of the Iliad], containing the embassy to Achilles, or the debate between the chiefs in Book One, or the opinions delivered in Book Two, exhibit all the arts of forensic and deliberative rhetoric’? 38 See Martin Hengel, The ‘Hellenization’ of Judaea in the First Century after Christ, trans. John Bowden (London: SCM Press, 1989), especially pp. 24–6. 39 See H.-I. Marrou, Histoire de l’éducation dans l’antiquité. Vol. 1. Le monde Grec, 7th edn (Paris: Éditions du Seuil, 1975), pp. 291–306. 40 See in this respect the essay by Elaine Fantham, ‘The Contexts and Occasions of Roman Public Rhetoric’, in Roman Eloquence: Rhetoric in Society and Literature, ed. William J. Dominik (London: Routledge: 1997), especially pp. 122–4. On festivals and rhetoric, see Raffaella Cribiore, Gymnastics of the Mind: Greek Education in Hellenistic and Roman Egypt (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2001), pp. 241–2. 41 See Bruce W. Winter, ‘The Entries and Ethics of Orators and Paul (1 Thessalonians 2:1–12)’, TynBul 44 (1993): 55–74, especially 55–60. 42 George A. Kennedy, New Testament Interpretation through Rhetorical Criticism (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1984), pp. 9–10, states: ‘It is not a

Introduction

13

Luke–Acts would have read the speeches with the basic outlines of rhetoric in mind. Consequently, I will maintain in view the basic canons of rhetoric as I examine the different speeches. In this respect, Kennedy’s short guide to the analysis of speeches is appropriate.43 1.2.3

Dramatic irony

Strictly speaking, dramatic irony is not a method but a literary technique that falls under the category of ‘implicit commentary’. Nevertheless, since it will be one of the planks in my arguments, it is important to provide some definition and description. What is irony? D.C. Muecke makes the following comment: ‘Getting to grips with irony seems to have something in common with gathering mist; there is plenty to take hold of if only one could.’44 At one end of the spectrum the term ‘irony’ has been explained by the simple adage proposed by Cicero: ‘Irony is saying one thing and meaning another.’ At the other end stands nineteenth-century Romantic irony which, influenced by Kant, conceived of irony as an outlook on life that doubted the stability of all things, thus holding to a hopeless and implacable determinism.45 By contrast, the type of irony that concerns us here is that which has been called ‘dramatic irony’.46 As its name implies, it is the irony of the theatre. In its essence, dramatic irony takes maximum advantage of the gap that exists between the characters in the story and the audience outside the story. The characters, by virtue of being ‘in’ the story, have spatial, temporal, and factual limitations; they are not privy to the future and consequently can only know what has transpired to a particular point in the narrative. In addition, they may be unaware of the thoughts and intentions of other characters. The audience, on the other hand, necessary premise … that the evangelists … had formally studied Greek rhetoric … there were many handbooks of rhetoric in common circulation which … could have [been] seen.’ Contrast the opinion of William Kurz, ‘Hellenistic Rhetoric in the Christological Proof of Luke–Acts’, CBQ 42 (1980): 171–95, who argues that Luke may well have partaken of rhetorical education. He argues this point both from the content of Luke–Acts (particularly Luke’s use of enthymemes) and from the widespread rhetoric in ancient education. But cf. Loveday Alexander, The Preface to Luke’s Gospel: Literary Convention and Social Context in Luke 1.1–4 and Acts 1.1 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), pp. 179–84. 43 Kennedy, New Testament Interpretation, pp. 33–8. 44 D.C. Muecke, The Compass of Irony (London: Methuen & Co., 1969), p. 3. 45 See s.v. ‘Romantic Irony’, The Oxford Companion to Philosophy. 46 It has also been called ‘tragic irony’ or ‘Sophoclean irony’. See J.A.K. Thomson, Irony: An Historical Introduction (London: Allen & Unwin, 1926), pp. 34–7 and passim.

14

The speeches of outsiders in Acts

because it is outside the story, can hover over the entire narrative with the wings of omniscience provided by the narrator. Furthermore, its position outside the story gives it an unconfined chronological vantage point: the audience, as it were, knows the end from the beginning. Dramatic irony, therefore, is fundamentally the exploitation of the knowledge gap that exists between the ‘world’ of the story and the real world of the audience. Consequently, it can be found in any type of literature and not exclusively in drama.47 By way of classification, I shall follow Muecke’s taxonomy. He suggests that three elements must be present for dramatic irony to work: (1) two levels of meaning (or significance), one for the characters and the other for the audience; (2) dissonance or tension between these two levels; and (3) the presence of a ‘victim’: someone who says more than he or she knows or acts to accomplish a deed of which the opposite comes to pass. This last component is of particular importance given the theological and philosophical climate that helps give birth to dramatic irony. God (in the case of the Hebrew Bible) or the gods are viewed as sovereign entities: the deity’s will shall be done. It follows, therefore, that oftentimes the ‘victim’ in the ironic scenario, unbeknownst to him or her, is moving against the will of God or the gods (e.g. Joseph’s brothers, Croesus, Oedipus). The victims of dramatic irony, it may be said, stand as outsiders or opponents to the ideological vision inherent in the narrative, and as such can adopt a hubristic posture. As we shall see during the course of this work, this hubristic position of the ‘victim’ makes the speeches and actions of outsiders in Acts fertile soil where dramatic irony can germinate.48 1.3

Structure and procedure

Following this Introduction, I move in chapter two to offer an assessment on the current state of research on the speeches in Acts. The chapter will confirm that to date the speeches of outsiders in Acts have been ignored and why I believe they have been overlooked. 47 Thomson, Irony, for example, examines the use of irony in Epic and History as well as Drama. 48 Simon Goldhill, Being Greek under Rome: Cultural Identity, the Second Sophistic and the Development of Empire (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), p. 2, notes how the categories of ‘outsiders’ and ‘insiders’ can be exploited in Greek literature from the Principate to produce irony: ‘The play of insider and outsider, ancient and modern, knowingness and naivety, constructs a complex and ironic positionality for author and readers.’

Introduction

15

Chapter three is an extensive journey into narrative works of the Hebrew Bible and Second Temple in order to estimate the function of speeches of outsiders in these narratives. The insights gained from this analysis will be used to interact with the speech material in Acts.49 Chapters four to seven will examine the speeches of outsiders in Acts. I will begin with the speech of the Pharisee Gamaliel delivered before the Sanhedrin (chapter four). I will then explore the speech in Corinth delivered by the Proconsul Gallio (chapter five). Chapter six examines the speeches of two outsiders in the city of Ephesus, namely Demetrius and the Town Clerk. The final chapter on Acts concentrates on the written speech of Claudius Lysias as well as the speeches of Tertullus and Festus. By examining all these speeches I shall be exploring their function in the narrative as a whole. Furthermore, my investigation will attempt to explore Luke’s rhetorical techniques, his historiographic orientation, and a possible purpose for his twovolume work. The Conclusion of the project seeks to bring together the previous findings and provide a nuanced summary of what I consider to be Luke’s use of the speeches of outsiders. My conclusions will have relevance for the construction of a poetics for Luke’s second volume, his theological inclination, his historiographic horizon, and the possible historical scenario that made it amenable for him to employ the speeches of outsiders as a rhetorical topos. I conclude this Introduction by outlining the procedure to be followed in examining the relevant texts in Acts. First, I start each pericope by locating it within its broader context (co-texts). Secondly, I break the pertinent unit into three parts: setting, characters, and plot.50 The narrative block wherein which the speech is found will receive considerable attention since the speeches in Acts are tightly joined to their narrative setting. Thirdly, the speech itself will be examined. Lastly, I unite the observations from the study of the narrative and the study of the speech to suggest the latter’s function in the unit being examined and in Acts as a whole. 49 My restriction to the Jewish side of comparative material does not imply that the speeches of outsiders in Greco-Roman historiography are viewed as irrelevant; the restriction is partly due to the sheer magnitude of attempting to tackle both corpora in a single project. Although I will suggest that in the matter of the speeches of outsiders Luke’s matrix appears to be a Jewish one (see §8.3), a study of these speeches in GrecoRoman historiography may also pay considerable dividends. 50 These are arguably the three building blocks of a narrative. See Marguerat and Bourquin, Pour lire les récits bibliques, pp. 53–108.

2 THE CURRENT STATE OF RESEARCH O N T H E S P E E C H ES O F A C T S

Students of the New Testament have been preoccupied with the speeches of Acts, as far as we can tell, from the third century. At that time the disciple of Origen, Pamphilus of Caesarea, composed a commentary with a series of κεφάλαια under which he provided exposition of the Acts of the Apostles. Under the twentieth heading, referring to one of Paul’s missionary sermons, Pamphilus made a historical and theological observation: he believed that the speech came from the mouth of Paul and that it represented a ‘thriving teaching about Christ’ (εὐθαλὴς διδασκαλία εἰς Χριστόν).1 The speeches in Acts, in both their theological and historiographic dimensions have continued to be a topic of discussion up to the present time. In fact, as will be argued in the current chapter, the speeches are viewed as such vital constituents of Acts that, when the book is viewed through the grid of a fresh method, the speeches often serve as one of the first objects to exemplify the results of that new approach. This chapter has a threefold purpose. First, it canvasses works on the speeches from the so-called Tübingen School to the present, showing that the speeches of outsiders in Acts have been overlooked. Secondly, it offers an explanation as to why the speeches of outsiders have been neglected. Thirdly, the chapter demonstrates that the orientation of the present volume arises from more recent literary and historiographic preoccupation that attempts to use the speeches to glean different facets of Luke’s second volume: his literary techniques, his historiographic orientation, and his theological contribution.2 ‘Expositio capitum Actuum Apostolorum’, col. 1553, in PG, Vol. 10. The current chapter is not meant to be exhaustive; the attempt is rather to marshal the key contributors in the history of the speeches and document the evolution of views in order then to locate my own position in the trajectory. For a more thorough assessment of the history of scholarship of Acts, see A.C. McGiffert, ‘The Historical 1 2

16

The current state of research on the speeches of Acts 2.1

17

Ferdinand Christian Baur

I begin my exploration with F.C. Baur since his proposals concerning the history of the early church proved to be extremely influential in generating future discussion. It is in fact Baur’s robust scepticism toward the historical reliability of Acts (and as a result the speeches in Acts) that would set in motion future debates concerning the historicity of the speeches.3 It is important, before turning to his comments on the speeches, to note the historiographic underpinnings and the textual evidence that led Baur to his position on Acts. While it is true that Baur never intended to separate history from philosophy,4 it is inaccurate to say that his construction of early Christianity was the result of a grand Hegelian philosophical synthesis that inevitably coloured the way he viewed the data and led to a predictable set of results. Baur was a rigorous historian who believed in the importance of an objective sifting of sources.5 Philosophy could and should be used in conjunction with, not apart from, historical data. It may come as a surprise that in this respect Baur was following the footsteps of the father of so-called objective history, Leopold von Ranke. The latter had stated: No one could be more convinced than I that historical research requires the strictest method: criticism of the authors, the banning of all fables, the extraction of the pure facts … But I am also convinced that this fact has a spiritual content … The external appearance is not the final thing which we have to discover; there is still something which occurs within … It is our task to recognize what really happened in the series of facts which German history comprises: their sum. After the labour of criticism, intuition is required. Criticism of Acts in Germany’, in The Beginnings of Christianity: Prolegomena II. Criticism, ed. F.J. Foakes Jackson and Kirsopp Lake (London: Macmillan, 1922), Vol. 2, pp. 363–95; Ernst Haenchen, The Acts of the Apostles: A Commentary, trans. R. McL. Wilson (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1971), pp. 14–49; W.W. Gasque, A History of the Criticism of the Acts of the Apostles (Tübingen: Mohr, 1975). For a brief survey on the history of scholarship of the speeches in Acts, see Soards, The Speeches in Acts, pp. 1–11. 3 Although he was not the first to cast a suspicious eye on their factuality. According to Soards, The Speeches, p. 2, n. 5, this was first done by J.G. Eichhorn in 1810. 4 ‘Ohne Philosophie bleibt mir die Geschichte ewig todt und stumm.’ Baur, as quoted in Klaus Berger, Exegese und Philosophie (Stuttgart: Verlag Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1986), p. 33. 5 See Frank Kaufmann, Foundations of Modern Church History (New York: Peter Lang, 1992), p. 89.

18

The speeches of outsiders in Acts

And further, Talent is an intimation [Ahnung], an immediate empathy with essence. I scent the track of the spirit … The spirit from which things come, and the knower, will be one. In this theory of knowledge the most subjective is at the same time the most general truth.6 What is striking here is Ranke’s closeness of thought and vocabulary to Hegel. As Novick has argued, Ranke believed that it was the task of the historian to perform meticulous historical research in order to discern God’s work in history.7 Baur was following this German historiographic tradition, a tradition that, while espousing a number of philosophical systems, was founded on painstaking historical analysis.8 Moving to the textual evidence that led to Baur’s hypothesis of primitive Christianity, his initial signal was found in 1 Cor. 1.12. In that passage we encounter the somewhat enigmatic statements repeated by Paul, ‘I belong to Paul’, or ‘I belong to Apollos’, or ‘I belong to Cephas’, or ‘I belong to Christ’. According to Baur, these assertions were echoes of the battle that was raging in first-century Christianity, namely, the division of the church into two principal parties: those who followed the apostle Peter and represented Jewish Christianity and those who rallied behind Paul and represented gentile Christianity.9 Baur was convinced that the Jewish party was responsible for mounting the attack on Paul which is particularly evident throughout 2 Corinthians. Baur thought that he had found further confirmation for his view in statements from Paul’s epistle to the Romans and Galatians, the former which he did not view as a timeless theological treatise at all but an apologetic document directed at the Jewish Christian community in the imperial capital of I owe both of these quotations to Peter Novick, That Noble Dream, p. 28. Ibid., p. 27. See also Gerd Lüdemann, Opposition to Paul in Jewish Christianity, trans. M. Eugene Boring (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1989), p. 220, n. 56. 9 He presented these views in his seminal article, ‘Die Christuspartei in der korinthischen Gemeinde, der Gegensatz des petrinischen und paulinischen Christentums in der ältesten Kirche, der Apostel Petrus in Rom’, Tübinger Zeitschrift für Theologie 5 (1831): 61–206. On how Baur was able to sidestep the problems of the Apollos’ party and the Christ’s party and who they stood for, see Horton Harris, The Tübingen School (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1975), p. 182. As Lüdemann has indicated in his Opposition to Paul, pp. 2, 4, n. 34, however, Baur did indicate in this article that neither Peter nor any of the original apostles stood behind the Jewish party. 6 7 8

The current state of research on the speeches of Acts

19

Rome.10 As to Galatians, it is here especially, according to Baur, that we behold the tremendous conflict between Paul and the Jewish party which should be seen as normative for the New Testament period. Lastly, and among the non-canonical books, Baur invoked the Clementine Homilies as support for his theory. He held this novel to have been composed around 170 CE and as ‘evidence for a polemic against Paul, veiled as an imaginary debate between Peter and Simon Magus’.11 Thus, Baur considered that this warring state of affairs was not confined to the first century but continued well into the second. Baur was persuaded that the above representation was accurate and historically objective. It followed, therefore, that any New Testament document that did not witness to the above combat could not be a truthful depiction of the early church and thus was to be considered as belonging to the post-apostolic age. For example, documents containing a Tendenz of conciliation between the Pauline and Petrine parties were to be held as spurious.12 It came as no surprise, then, that Baur held the Acts of the Apostles to be a secondcentury document with little historical value as to the life and travels of Peter and/or Paul. In Baur’s opinion, the way to move forward if one wanted a strictly historical-critical investigation of Acts was to inquire on the question of its purpose. In this respect, he followed the basic thesis of his contemporary Matthias Schneckenburger.13 The latter explored the book of Acts and concluded that the purpose of the author (whom he considered to be Luke, a companion of Paul) was to present an apologetic portrayal of Paul by highlighting his Jewishness. In particular, Schneckenburger called attention to the parallelisms between Peter and Paul, in which the two appear to be almost identical. While this Tendenz did not lead Schneckenburger to reject the basic historicity of Acts, for Baur it did precisely the opposite.14 F.C. Baur, ‘Über Zweck und Veranlassung des Römerbriefs und die damit zusammenhängenden Verhältnisse der römischen Gemeinde. Eine historisch-kritische Untersuchung’, Tübinger Zeitschrift für Theologie 9 (1836): 59–178. 11 Gasque, A History of the Criticism, p. 28. 12 In the Pauline corpus, these were all, except for Romans, 1 and 2 Corinthians, and Galatians. 13 Matthias Schneckenburger, Über den Zweck der Apostelgeschichte (Bern: Fischer, 1841). 14 Although, again, Baur was in complete agreement as to this apologetic purpose presented by Schneckenburger: ‘Schneckenburger has incontestably proved that the Acts of the Apostles was composed from this apologetic point of view’ (F.C. Baur, Paul the Apostle of Jesus Christ: His Life and Works, his Epistles and his Teachings, trans. A. Menzies [Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2003]), p. 8. 10

20

The speeches of outsiders in Acts

In Baur’s conception of history, an author who was ‘tendentious’ as to what portions of the facts he would hold back and what parts he would put forward could not be trusted. And – following Schneckenburger’s proposal – this is the method that Luke employed when he allowed the reader now to see certain traits of Paul which would make him amicable to the Jewish party and now to exclude those characteristics (according to Baur, many) which would have angered them. Although this might have been acceptable to someone like Schneckenburger, in Baur’s historiography this was less than honest: ‘Any writer who is purposely silent upon so many points, and thereby places the facts of his narrative in a different light, cannot certainly be considered as just and conscientious.’15 Again he stated concerning the historiographic method of the author of Acts: It is certainly apparent that a decided apologetic feeling lies at the root of his statement, and therefore it must be doubtful whether we can have a purely historical relation from him: and it can scarcely be denied that possibly, if not probably, he has in many cases ignored the true history, not only negatively, by ignoring actions and circumstances which bear essentially on his subject matter, but also positively.16 The Acts of the Apostles, then, coincided with Baur’s conception of history, a conception that was partly driven by a firm belief in ‘a concrete centre’ that manifested itself in history.17 In fact, Acts represents the reconciliation that sought to bring together the opposing Petrine and Pauline parties. And precisely because the document betrays this irenic purpose it is to be considered post-apostolic and not providing a factual history of the primitive church. The only history it does provide is that which bears witness to a second century in which we can see that a conciliatory document was needed for the conflicting church of the period. In other words, the conflict between the Jewish and gentile parties was not yet resolved; even in the second century these issues were alive: As far as we can follow the course of these circumstances we find it undeniable that they did exist, that they extended far into the second century, and that they were powerful enough during that period when a newly-established Church was 15 17

Baur, Paul, p. 10. 16 Ibid., p. 11. See Kaufman, Foundations, pp. 120–2.

The current state of research on the speeches of Acts

21

rising out of the conflict of heterogeneous elements, to produce other literary results of a similar tendency.18 The contribution of Acts, then, is not as an accurate portrayal of the first century of Christianity; rather, by fabricating a narrative which showed Peter and Paul to be in basic agreement, the author attempted to provide a compelling example of harmony and unity to the secondcentury church: what better incentive to unity than to see the two great apostles as almost twin brothers. In view of the place given to Acts in Baur’s reconstruction, it is not surprising to find that he viewed practically all the speeches as the creations of its author. In his first chapter on Acts, Baur examines ‘The Church at Jerusalem before the Apostle’s Conversion’. Baur argues, however, that this era of the church was so distorted by the author’s propensity to present the apostles as faultless super-humans and to portray the church as blissfully free from conflicts, that the events narrated therein could not possibly be historical.19 If this entire section is thus tendentious, the speeches that are part of the narrative block are also fictitious. Consequently, Gamaliel’s speech in Acts 5 cannot be historically accurate since the fiercest persecutor of the church at the time, namely Paul, came precisely from the former’s school of thought: ‘Therefore, we must also let alone the person of Gamaliel and reduce his celebrated advice to the mere opinion prevailing among the Jewish rulers at that time …’20 For that matter, argued Baur, in all probability none of the speeches of this period – neither Peter’s nor the disciples’ prayer in Acts 4 – is to be considered authentic. In the best-case scenario there is a mixture of free invention and received tradition; however, this latter element does not vouchsafe any more historical reliability because ‘a writer like the author of the Acts of the Apostles, cannot deny himself the right to use even traditional materials in a free and independent manner’.21 Stephen’s speech in Acts 7 fares no better in the hands of Baur. Is it possible, he asks, that Stephen – a man portrayed in Acts as being utterly selfless – could make such a rhetorically and theologically Baur, Paul, p. 12. Ibid., pp. 16–20, 22, 30. For example, Baur points to Acts 4, where supposedly Peter and John were able to control the entire Sanhedrin. 20 Ibid., p. 35. In the footnote in the same page he explains his reasoning further when he states, ‘That Gamaliel could not really have spoken the words as they are put into his mouth by the author of Acts … is shown by the striking chronological error in the appeal to the example of Theudas …’ 21 Ibid., p. 38. 18 19

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polished speech in order to defend none other than himself? Are we also to believe that the angry Jewish audience was able politely to hold back its rage until Stephen had reached the conclusion of his long speech in order then to attack him? None of this seems historically plausible for Baur. Therefore, while even considering that Stephen’s character may fit the ethos and the knowledge displayed in the speech, Baur answers in the affirmative the question he himself poses: ‘What is there to prevent the supposition that it is nevertheless the work of the historian himself?’22 In the same manner, Paul’s own narration of his conversion experience in Acts 22 may not be categorised as a historical speech since in it the apostle stated that the voice of the risen Jesus addressed him alone, thereby attempting to boost his own image: this shows too much Tendenz to be historical.23 To cite one last example, we may call attention to the speech delivered by the silversmith Demetrius in Acts 19. This entire episode, asserted Baur, particularly with the parallelism between Peter’s and Paul’s ability to heal without having to touch, is so bent in its attempt to assimilate the apostles to one another that it cannot but be a fabrication of the author. Consequently, the speech is most likely unhistorical as well.24 Baur’s comments on the speeches allow us to see that historiography and historicity were two salient factors in his examination of Acts and its discourses. His two most important, immediate heirs, son-inlaw Eduard Zeller and Albert Schwegler, held similar views on the speeches. Zeller in particular propagated Baur’s conclusions through the journal Theologische Jahrbücher.25 Although Baur’s ideas in their more radical form did not gain wide acceptance, his views on the historicity of Acts did have an effect on future scholarship (e.g. the relationship of the Paul of the epistles to the Paul of Acts and the selectivity of Luke in his presentation of apostolic Christianity). The speeches would be at the centre of future debates. From this point forward, historiography and historicity, the latter in particular, would be the dominant objects of research with respect to the speeches.26 Ibid., p. 56. 23 Ibid., p. 65. Ibid., pp. 198–201. 25 Harris, Tübingen, p. 65. 26 One has only to peruse the section on the speeches in Mattill’s bibliography, A Classified Bibliography of Literature on the Acts of the Apostles (Leiden: Brill, 1966), pp. 165–72, to reach this conclusion. The list only includes material published up to 1966. This should now be supplemented by Joel B. Green and Michael C. McKeever, Luke– Acts and New Testament Historiography (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1994), pp. 123–30. This 22 24

The current state of research on the speeches of Acts 2.2

23

Henry Joel Cadbury

Cadbury has been recognised as a model of creative and careful work on Luke–Acts. In addition to a number of very influential monographs27 and his various contributions to the celebrated series The Beginnings of Christianity, Cadbury left us an important essay on the speeches of Acts.28 The fundamental question which the essay addresses is the issue of the historicity of the speeches. Cadbury’s basic premise, through which lens he looks at the discourses, is that ancient historians freely invented speeches: he sprinkles this statement throughout the entire essay.29 From the outset, therefore, it is practically assumed that Luke also concocted speeches. Cadbury compares Acts’ speeches to those of Dionysius of Halicarnassus and Josephus;30 however, he indicates that Luke may be given the benefit of being placed among more reliable authors such as Dio Cassius or Tacitus.31 Looking at the speeches themselves, Cadbury contends that there are several features that would argue for the mind of Luke as the location where the speeches were initially conceived. First, in the use of Old Testament passages, most of the speeches conform to the same pattern in demonstrating the messiahship of Jesus.32 Secondly, and particularly in the sermons to gentiles, one speech’s apparent limitation is supplemented by another speech in the narrative. Examples are the speeches in Athens and its complementary one at Lystra in addition to those of Stephen and Peter.33 Thirdly, even if it is admitted that the speeches display variation in such things as proper names, religious terms, and adaptation to the different venues of where the preaching took place, the fact that these variations are done in such a flawless manner may in fact point to Luke’s editorial or inventive pen rather than the

last work, however, is not exhaustive of all the material published. See further Soards, The Speeches in Acts, pp. 5–6, who argues that at the turn of the century the historicity of the speeches was one of the central interests in Acts’ research. 27 For example, The Making of Luke–Acts (New York: Macmillan, 1927); idem, The Book of Acts in History (London: A. & C. Black, 1955). For the impact of Cadbury on Acts’ scholarship, see Mikeal C. Parsons and Joseph B. Tyson, eds., Cadbury, Knox, and Talbert: American Contributions to the Study of Acts (Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press, 1992). 28 Cadbury, ‘The Speeches in Acts’, in The Beginnings of Christianity, Part 1, Vol. 5. The Acts of the Apostles. Additional Notes to the Commentary, ed. F.J. Foakes Jackson and Kirsopp Lake (London: Macmillan, 1933), pp. 402–27. 29 E.g. ‘The Speeches’, pp. 402, 404, n.1, 405, 417, 426–7. 30 Ibid., p. 403. 31 Ibid., p. 406. 32 Ibid., pp. 407–9. 33 Ibid., pp. 409–10.

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genuineness of the accounts.34 Lastly, Cadbury points out that it is predominantly in the speeches that most chronological and historical errors in Acts have surfaced. Therefore, ‘it may well be that [errors] are due to the fact that this style of dramatic composition is more liable to error and anachronism than is the reproduction of narrative sources’.35 Are there then any reasonable grounds for taking the speeches as genuine? Cadbury comments that the strongest argument for their historical reliability may be a comparison of Luke’s method of speech-reporting in his Gospel with his method in Acts. That is to say (assuming common authorship of the Gospel and Acts), if in the place where we are able to examine his habits – by comparing him to Matthew and Mark’s Gospels – he emerges as being faithful, should we not assume the same mode of operation for Acts (assuming that Luke worked with written sources on this occasion as well)? But here again Cadbury answers in the negative. Could Luke not have altered his method in his second volume? In addition, the sayings of Jesus had a more memorable ring to them – not to mention importance – than those of the apostles. Furthermore, it is possible that even in those sayings in the Gospels which were unique to Luke, the evangelist might have elaborated what was initially a bare aphorism into a welldecorated episode and speech. Hence, his work would show a distinguished mark which the other Gospels did not possess.36 When all these factors are taken into consideration, argues Cadbury, it is more likely that the speeches of Acts have been invented by Luke. Is there then any historical value to the speeches? Cadbury concludes the essay with the following statement: Even though devoid of historical basis in genuine tradition the speeches in Acts have nevertheless considerable historical value. There is reason to suppose that the talented author of Acts expended upon them not only his artistic skill, but also a considerable amount of historic imagination … Probably these addresses give us a better idea of the early church than if Luke had striven for realism … They indicate at least what seemed to a well-informed Christian of the next generation the main outline of the Christian message as first presented by Jesus’ followers in Palestine and in the cities of the Mediterranean world.37 34 36

Ibid., pp. 417–20. Ibid., pp. 416–17.

35 37

Ibid., p. 422. Ibid., pp. 426–7.

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Cadbury seems to be saying, then, that what Luke reports are not the actual words given by the apostles and others; rather, due to Luke’s knowledge of the ‘main outline’ of apostolic preaching (through written sources) he was able to put into the mouths of the speakers what could have been said by those first-generation heralds. Thus, although not historical in the traditional way that the term has been understood, the speeches are nevertheless part of ‘history’. Cadbury’s essay displays interest in both the historiography and the historicity of the speeches. The former interest can be seen in his comparison of Acts’ speeches to those of both the biblical and GrecoRoman tradition. The latter interest is seen in his adjudication of the ultimate source of the speeches. Although he granted the possibility of traditional material embedded in the speeches, his inclination was to view them ultimately as Lukan compositions. It is also interesting to note that, while Cadbury classified the majority of the speeches in Acts, including the discourses of nonChristians, he did not provide any detailed comments on the latter. 2.3

F.F. Bruce

In Bruce’s work on the speeches one encounters perhaps the most influential argument for a conservative conclusion with regard to their historicity.38 Bruce begins by attempting to dispel the wideheld belief that all ancient historians irresponsibly invented the speeches of their characters. Bruce argues that there existed a tradition which began with Thucydides where speech-reporting was viewed as a serious endeavour: historians were to report what the speakers actually said, even if only in summary.39 That this tradition existed is corroborated by statements to that effect in subsequent historians such as Dionysius of Halicarnassus and Polybius.40 Nevertheless, Bruce admits that, with the passing of time, speechreporting often became the camp where historians, rather than faithfully reproducing the gist of what the speakers stated, actually showed 38 In addition to his commentaries on Acts, he completed three more works on the speeches: The Speeches in Acts (London: Tyndale Press, 1944); ‘The Speeches in Acts – Thirty Years after’, in Reconciliation and Hope, ed. R. Banks (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1973), pp. 53–68; and ‘The Significance of the Speeches for Interpreting Acts’, Southwestern Journal of Theology 33 (1990): 20–8. References are to the first of these works. The opinions expressed in this initial lecture were, in their essence, maintained in Bruce’s later works. 39 Bruce, The Speeches, p. 6. 40 Ibid., p. 7.

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off their rhetorical prowess either by inventing speeches ex nihilo or by radically altering a simple speech into a virtuoso discourse. One such example, from Luke’s time, was the Jewish historian Josephus. Due to the fact that in his Antiquities Josephus often retold speeches from the Hebrew Bible, we can clearly see when he artistically elaborated what was in his source a rather ‘plain’ speech. The question which the student of Acts is forced to ask, then, is to which camp Luke belongs: the more scientific Thucydidean or the decidedly artistic one as represented in the first century by Josephus? In Bruce’s opinion, the differences which the Acts’ speeches demonstrate when compared with Josephus’ would indicate that Luke did not intend his speeches to be samples of flowery rhetoric: ‘At once we are struck by a difference, for [Acts’] speeches can by no means be called the summit of Luke’s literary perfection. For an author who could write such idiomatic Greek as the Prologue to the Third Gospel, the Greek of the speeches in Acts is surprisingly awkward.’41 If we add to this observation, continues Bruce, that where Luke can be checked, that is, in his Gospel, it can be noted that he has faithfully preserved his sources, then it follows that the burden of proof for the speeches’ supposed lack of factuality lies on those who declare that they are mere inventions.42 With these two foundations well placed, Bruce proceeds to examine several of the speeches. He classes them into four categories: evangelistic, deliberative, apologetic, and hortatory. As to the first category, Bruce reasons that, given the Aramaicisms which can be detected in Peter’s speeches, it is very likely the case that Luke faithfully followed early sources.43 In the deliberative camp, the speeches found in the Jerusalem Council fit what we know of the characters so well that it is reasonable to conclude that they are trustworthy representations of what the speakers uttered on the occasion.44 Moving to the apologetic speeches, Bruce notes that Paul’s defences in Acts 22 and 26 are so well tailored to their different audiences that they are probably historical: ‘The two defences … are so subtly adapted to their respective audiences that we must either assume a remarkably astute composer, or conclude that we have substantially faithful reports of what Paul really said on both occasions.’45 Finally, Bruce suggests that the hortatory speech given by Paul to the Ephesian elders at Miletus shares so many strong parallels to his own letters that it should also be seen as historical. 41 44

Ibid., pp. 7–8. 42 Ibid., p. 8. 43 Ibid., p. 9. Ibid., pp. 19–20. 45 Ibid., p. 25.

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Furthermore, given that a ‘we’ passage follows the speech, Bruce concludes that ‘there can be little doubt that Luke heard it himself’.46 In conclusion, given all of the above observations, Bruce suggests that there are very strong reasons to suppose that Luke did not freely invent speeches; rather, they should be seen as compressed accounts of what was actually said: We need not suppose that the speeches in Acts are verbatim reports … Paul, we know, was given to long sermons … but any of the speeches attributed to him in Acts may be read through aloud in a few minutes. But I suggest that reason has been shown to conclude that the speeches reported by Luke are at least faithful epitomes, giving the gist of the arguments used.47 To sum up, it can be observed that Bruce continued the preoccupation of scholars with the historiography and historicity of the speeches. Like Cadbury, Bruce brought to bear on the issue the practice of Greco-Roman historians. He also nuanced this comparative observation by noting that sweeping statements to the effect that ‘all’ historians invented speeches or that ‘all’ historians were responsible reporters of what was actually said were exaggerations. Rather, there were both ‘rhetorical’ historians as well as more ‘documentary’ ones. Bruce opined that Luke – for stylistic, realistic, and comparative reasons – belonged to the camp of those historians who reported the gist of what the speakers had truly said. As Cadbury before him, although Bruce provided classifications for the different speeches in Acts (evangelistic, deliberative, apologetic, and hortatory), he did not address the speeches of outsiders in his analysis. 2.4

Martin Dibelius

Prior to Dibelius’ contribution, scholarship on Acts in his native Germany was immersed in the source-critical method. Believing that Luke had been unable (not unwilling, as Tendenzkritik had asserted) to provide an exhaustive history of the apostolic age, students of Acts were dedicated to detecting and allotting the sources that lay behind the final product. The unspoken assumption was that a discovery of an embedded source may give credibility to the author 46

Ibid., p. 26.

47

Ibid., p. 27.

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of Acts (i.e. if he had a source, it probably meant that he did not invent). Another assumption was to view Luke’s second volume as a somewhat crude piece of work that would evince clear ruptures where one could see where a tradition was stitched to another: Luke, in other words, was not normally considered an author in his own right.48 All this was to change, though not immediately, with Dibelius’ work. Dibelius’ most important essay with regard to the speeches was ‘The Speeches in Acts and Ancient Historiography’.49 He began the essay by making some remarks on Greco-Roman historiography, particularly their method of speech reporting. According to Dibelius, ancient historians did not feel any obligation to reproduce what the speakers had actually said. Their aims in the inclusion of speeches were otherwise: to give insight into the situation as a whole, to illuminate the historical moment, to provide insight on a speaker’s character, and to explain a particular situation.50 In the second part of his essay, Dibelius sought to place Acts (and its use of speeches) within the Greco-Roman historiographic tradition mentioned above. His aim was to discover ‘what place the speeches in the Acts of the Apostles take among the quite varied types of speeches recorded by historians, and thus, at the same time, of determining the meaning to be attributed to the speeches in the work as a whole’.51 In order to accomplish this task Dibelius adopted a dual method. First, he investigated those speeches that in his opinion did not seem to correspond well to the events to which they are attached. Under this group he discerned four: that at Cornelius’ home, at Athens, at Miletus, and at Antonia. The second method was the literary tactic of repetition. By this Dibelius refers to those themes that are constantly inserted in the different speeches, particularly the missionary speeches.52 The use of the first method yielded the conclusion that Luke had inserted speeches at certain vital sections of the narrative. The purpose of this ploy, argued Dibelius, was to clarify for the reader the

48 For a survey of Acts’ scholarship during the source-critical period and the important contributions of this approach, see Haenchen, Acts, pp. 24–34. 49 Published in 1949 and included in the English translation in Studies in the Acts of the Apostles, ed. Heinrich Greeven, trans. Mary Ling (London: SCM Press, 1956), pp. 138–85. 50 Dibelius, ‘The Speeches in Acts’, in Studies pp. 138–45. 51 Ibid., p. 145. 52 Ibid., p. 165. Some of the recurring motifs according to Dibelius are those of kerygma, witness, and resurrection.

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main themes being advanced in the story; in other words, what Luke did was to complement the action by the word and thus explain the significance of momentous events. This explanation, however, was not provided for the sake of the characters in the narrative, but for the intended readers of Acts. According to Dibelius, in this respect Luke followed the ancient historians. Nevertheless, Luke had also used this technique to illuminate for his audience the ways of God; and in this Luke parts company with historians.53 In the second method, namely, repetition, Luke had forsaken historical norms. In the missionary sermons of Peter and Paul, for example, one notices that, unlike many ancient historians, Luke primarily employed oratio recta rather than oratio obliqua. Dibelius gave the following opinion of the reasoning behind this procedure: What indirect speech is intended to avoid is exactly what Luke wishes to achieve. The speaker’s words are to reach the reader as directly as if they had been spoken contemporaneously, for the content of the speeches is the Christian message itself, the defence of the community against Judaism and against the danger of Gnosticism in the future, the presentation of individual Christian ideas – of God or of the resurrection of the dead – and, finally, the justification of the conversion of the Gentiles on the grounds that it was a task ordained by God … They [the speeches] are unimportant in comparison with the ideas which are constantly emphasised by the speakers. They are not, however, intended to be conveyed to the reader simply as part of the story, but as a living proclamation and as an exhortation.54 In addition to repetition, Luke had chosen not to follow the ancient historians in the following two techniques: authorial intrusion (‘Luke does not venture to make a personal judgment; he portrays the works of God and exercises no criticism of events’) and the juxtaposing of speeches giving alternative opinions.55 Dibelius thus concluded that Luke was both similar and dissimilar to ancient historians in the employment of speeches. The very fact that he included speeches is evidence that he has followed ancient historical practices. However, by showing, through the speeches, the ways of God, by employing repetition, and by forfeiting authorial

53

Ibid., pp. 175–8.

54

Ibid., p. 180.

55

Ibid., p. 181.

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intrusion and the union of speeches with opposing viewpoints, Luke had shown that he was ultimately a preacher: Thus by comparing the speeches in Acts with those of the historians we observe an important ambiguity. Luke indeed uses the historical technique and does set himself certain historical aims; this becomes clear enough when we give up trying to measure him by our ideas of historiography and historians. In the last analysis, however, he is not an historian but a preacher; we must not allow our attempts to prove the authenticity of the speeches to cloud our perception of their kerygmatic nature.56 In assessing Dibelius’ impact on future scholarship on Acts and its speeches, I concentrate on three contributions: (1) the wedge between history and theology, (2) the authenticity of the speeches, and (3) method. First, Dibelius effectively separated history and theology, a separation that remains with many scholars to this day.57 To the extent that Luke introduced speeches and used them to illuminate the ‘total situation’, Dibelius had no problems in granting him a place among the ancient historians. However, when Luke began to employ certain techniques – repetition, exclusive oratio recta, radical ruptures between speech and their supposed situational origin – or failed to employ others such as authorial intrusion to give judgements or the juxtaposition of speeches with conflicting viewpoints, at that point Luke had ceased to be a historian and had become a preacher. In other words, when Luke put aside practices that were meant to ensure objectivity and impartiality and introduced practices that were channels for ideational propositions, he was no longer a historian. When Luke sermonised he was conveying religious convictions about his own views on a movement of God; this is not history writing but rather preaching. We may criticise Dibelius by pointing out that beneath his entire analysis of the speeches there was a foundation of positivist historiography that is somewhat questionable – not to say naïve. We Ibid., p. 183. The separation of history from theology was of course nothing new, having roots in Descartes and being introduced into biblical scholarship with the works of D.F. Strauss and Ernst Troeltsch. See Murray A. Rae, History and Hermeneutics (London: T&T Clark, 2005), pp. 4–21. On the importance of Franz Overbeck for the separation of theology and history in Acts, see Clare Rothschild, Luke–Acts and the Rhetoric of History (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004), pp. 29–32. 56 57

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shall come back to this in the conclusion to this chapter. What is important for the moment is to acknowledge that Dibelius’ work had the effect of perpetuating the divorce between history and theology, a dichotomy that was forcefully carried forward by two of his most influential followers, Hans Conzelmann and Ernst Haenchen. Secondly, Dibelius’ essay had the paradoxical result of being used by future scholars to affirm confidently that the speeches in Acts were fabrications of Luke. This is paradoxical for the following two reasons. First, Dibelius had emphasised that his aim was not to inquire into the historicity of the speeches. He believed that this would be an obstacle in grasping the significance of the speeches in the work as a whole and hence refused to adjudicate on their veracity.58 Secondly, Dibelius did not go as far as saying that Luke had created speeches ex nihilo. To be sure, based on his view of Greco-Roman history, Dibelius considered that Luke had expended considerable creativity in his speech reporting. Nevertheless, the following footnote is telling (and often overlooked): I should like to say: ‘if we deny the historicity of these speeches,’ but we cannot go so far. Luke may have known of individual occasions when Paul spoke there. He may also have had information about the σύμπασα γνώμη of the speaker or of the speech in individual instances; he may even have been an eye-witness, but we cannot say where or when this was the case. Nor are we able in this case to attribute the speeches to the itinerary, which was undoubtedly used in Acts 13–21, for if this source recorded any speeches that had been made, then they would have been found in the itinerary more often. The selecting of the occasion and the elaboration of the speech is in each case the work of the author.59 Despite this opinion, one often comes across misleading statements to the effect that Dibelius proved that the speeches in Acts are unhistorical.60 Dibelius’ work thus had the effect of causing the speeches to be examined primarily for their historicity: some believed that Dibelius had gone too far in the creativity that he had assigned to Luke in the

See, e.g. Dibelius, ‘The Speeches in Acts’, pp. 155, 157, 159, and 164–5. Ibid., p. 164, n. 55. Emphasis added. See, for example, the statement of Ernst Haenchen, Acts, p. 590, ‘Dibelius finally proved the speech [at Miletus] to be Luke’s work …’ 58 59 60

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composition of the speeches;61 others believed that he had not gone far enough.62 The third contribution from Dibelius has to do with method. In the opening piece of the English volume of his essays, Dibelius explained his fresh approach to Acts, calling it ‘Style Criticism’.63 What source criticism had attempted to accomplish, namely, to use the text as a window to discover the sources behind it, was particularly difficult to work out when the scholar came to the Acts of the Apostles. Dibelius stated that this was the case for two reasons. First, while in the composition of the Gospel Luke had forerunners in writing and was basically a compiler of information, in Acts there was no such thing as a predecessor. Secondly, the different traditional clusters in Acts were different in form from the Gospels. Therefore, Luke was forced to be more than a mere assembler of information; he was forced to engage in more ‘original composition’.64 Consequently, ‘style criticism’ was needed. By this technique Dibelius meant investigating the work by focusing on the author’s story-telling techniques. Questions of historicity, Dibelius stated, were to be avoided, at least initially. Dibelius opined, furthermore, that historical reliability differed across the sections of Acts; therefore, one should not engage in trying to solve the historicity of the entire book without first assessing its style as a story. This methodological shift – from viewing Luke as a mere compiler of traditions to viewing him as a competent author in his own right – had a profound effect on Lukan studies. It served as a precursor to redaction criticism with its emphasis on the active roles that the evangelists took in the editing of their respective works. Conzelmann and Haenchen, in particular, developed Dibelius’ insights, creating a place for Luke the theologian. The second repercussion of Dibelius’ work was the impetus that it provided for treating Luke–Acts from a narratival perspective. To be sure, as I have stated previously (see under §1.2.1), narrative criticism did not develop out of redaction criticism; however, insofar as Dibelius highlighted 61 E.g. Bruce, ‘The Speeches in Acts – Thirty Years after’, pp. 53–68; W.W. Gasque, ‘The Speeches of Acts: Dibelius Reconsidered’, in New Dimensions in New Testament Study, ed. Richard N. Longenecker and Merrill C. Tenney (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 1974), pp. 232–50. 62 E.g. Wilckens, Die Missionsreden, p. 186, ‘Die Apostelreden der Acta … sind in hervorragendem Sinne Summarien dieser seiner theologischen Konzeption; sie sind nicht als Zeugnisse alter oder gar ältester urchristlicher Theologie, sondern lukanischer Theologie des ausgehenden ersten Jahrhunderts zu werten.’ 63 Dibelius, ‘Style Criticism of the Book of Acts’, in Studies, pp. 1–25. 64 Ibid., pp. 2–3.

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Luke’s ability as a story-teller, he indirectly encouraged New Testament critics to take up the methods of narrative criticism so as to exploit the narratival potentialities of Luke’s two volumes. As we shall see, the next significant work on the speeches, that of Marion Soards, used a narrative approach to investigate the speeches. Soards’ inspiration for this, as he states directly, was none other than Dibelius. In closing this section I must also mention that Dibelius was the first Lukan scholar to engage with the speeches of outsiders as a group.65 He mentioned these speeches in the context of the author’s partiality. That is to say, while Luke included speeches of opponents, they were not placed side by side with the speeches of protagonists with the intention of refuting the latter’s arguments and thus introducing a measure of detachment. Dibelius’ observation was that Luke had never intended to be impartial. In speaking of the speeches of Demetrius and the Ephesian Town Clerk, for example, he states that their speeches were introduced because ‘certain words are necessary in the course of an event’.66 Dibelius thus viewed the speeches of outsiders as insignificant to the author’s work. While Dibelius is to be credited for struggling with the significance of these speeches, I shall demonstrate in this book that, far from being insignificant, the speeches of opponents are vital in our understanding of Luke’s historiography/theology. 2.5

Marion Soards

Soards, professor of New Testament at Louisville Presbyterian Theological Seminary in the United States, has penned what is to date the most comprehensive and ambitious work on the speeches. His work is to be viewed as a response to Dibelius’ exhortation to view the speeches in Acts ‘as a whole’ and to sideline the matter of historicity. After providing a brief survey of research on the speeches roughly from the time immediately before the rise of the Tübingen School, Soards complains that in their approach to the speeches far too many works have concentrated on splitting them into different categories: literary, historical, and theological. Soards acknowledges that there is

65 He lists all the speeches of opponents that I will investigate in this book with the exception of the speech of Gallio (‘The Speeches in Acts’, p. 150). 66 Ibid., p. 175.

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considerable value in adopting this type of approach. Nevertheless, he contends that, given the nature of the narrative of Acts as well as the repetitive elements in the speeches, it is now necessary to attempt an analysis of all the speeches in the book of Acts.67 His purpose in this endeavour is to treat the speeches holistically: ‘this study is concerned with both the part the speeches play in the work as a whole and the place of Acts itself in the ancient world’.68 Soards examines all the speeches in Acts (by his count, thirty-six) by using techniques that are attuned both to literary criticism and to rhetorical criticism (the latter in the manner of Kennedy). His analysis of the speeches, given the breadth of his enterprise, is helpfully broad, but not especially deep. He concentrates rather on collating repetitive elements, both lexical and conceptual. Soards adduces an impressive list of analogical elements found throughout the speeches that he distils in the final chapter.69 Soards argues that by using the literary practice of analogy, Luke has been able, through the speeches, to unify what in all likelihood was a rather fragmented Christianity.70 His conclusion is as follows: The speeches in Acts are more than a literary device, or a historiographic convention, or a theological vehicle – though they are all of these; they achieve the unification of otherwise diverse and incoherent elements comprised by Acts. Through the regular introduction of formally repetitive speeches, Luke unified his narrative; and, more important, he unified the image of an otherwise personally, ethnically, and geographically diverse Christianity.71 What is conspicuous to the student of the speeches is Soards’ decision to steer clear from the debate about their historicity. In a sense, this statement is not completely accurate because Soards does devote a chapter to the examination of the possible historical milieu of the speeches.72 Nonetheless, this is not done in order to ascertain the genre of the book and thus the possible historical implications; rather Soards, The Speeches, pp. 8–13. 68 Ibid., p. 11. 69 Ibid., pp. 182–208. In this procedure Soards appeals to the works of Old Testament scholars as well as to literary critics. See ibid., pp. 12–13 for the list of the authors whom he adduces. 71 Ibid., p. 12. 72 Ibid., pp. 134–61. He concludes that they share elements with three camps: GrecoRoman, the Greek Bible, and Hellenistic-Jewish. In their form, they are parallel to Greco-Roman histories. In their content, they are comparable to the Greek Bible. In their purpose, they are akin to Hellenistic-Jewish historians. 67 70

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it is done to avoid an anachronistic understanding of the function of the speeches and thus our reading of them: viz. ‘in order to appreciate more fully the role of the speeches in Acts’.73 My statement concerning the lack of a historical aim is not at all meant to be negative; it is rather meant to illustrate the direction which research on the speeches has taken: they are not necessarily tools to get back to primitive sources, but have a function in the narrative. Furthermore – and here there is not a break with the past – the speeches allow us to peer into the theology of Luke. 2.6

Todd Penner

The final work to be examined is not restricted to speech material. Although the discourse of Stephen stands at the centre of the investigation, it is but part of a grander endeavour to assess Luke’s practice of speech reporting, the nature of ancient history, Luke’s own historiographic mores, and the place of the reader in approaching Acts.74 As such, this book (published in 2004) represents, in my opinion, the place of the speeches in current Acts research: the speeches are used as a prism through which to assess clusters of questions regarding, among other things, the nature of history, the genre of Acts, and rhetorical techniques employed in Acts. To be sure, the important questions of historicity and theology are still being asked; however, they are but part of a more ambitious enterprise. I summarise below the most salient aspects of Penner’s work. First, Penner strongly criticises those scholars who have attempted to split the speech of Stephen from its surrounding narrative in order to discern the possible traditions behind the speech.75 This approach, according to Penner, is misguided since it was in the nature of ancient historia to construct an organic plot that intertwined speech material.76 Consequently, readers may fail to grasp the meaning of a speech if it is severed from its habitat. Penner believes that Dibelius often made this mistake in his assessment of the speeches.77 In addition, Penner argues that, given the care that ancient historians took to

Ibid., p. 134. Penner, In Praise of Christian Origins. His examination comprises Acts 6.1–8.3. 75 Ibid., pp. 8–59. 76 Ibid., pp. 179–215. 77 Ibid., p. 212, n. 240. One may include Soards in this criticism: the immensity of his scope (to examine all the speeches in Acts) did not permit him to pay sufficient attention to the contexts of the different speeches, thus sometimes skewing his interpretation. 73 74

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blend their material so that it would come out as a unified structure,78 it would be very difficult to break it into pieces in order then to discern what is true and what is mere adornment: My contention in this study is that it is very difficult, if not impossible, to move beyond the framework, order, characterization, and style of the narrative to a concrete bedrock of assured reliable and verifiable data. The very understanding and practice of writing history in Luke’s day would seem to bear this out.79 Secondly, Penner devotes a lengthy chapter to delineating his understanding of ancient history. He makes the following important and controversial points. First, he states that modern scholars, particularly classicists, have insufficiently acknowledged the rhetorical nature of ancient history. Following the lead of A.J. Woodman and T.P. Wiseman, Penner believes that the primary aim of ancient historians was not to relate ‘what actually happened’; rather, their aim was to produce a persuasive document that would be useful for the readers. In this respect, he argues that the typical prefatory demur against a tragic brand of history by authors such as Polybius and Josephus was simply a topos, its primary goal being the securing of a favourable hearing.80 Secondly, Penner argues that in the Roman period history became even more pragmatic and ideological: ‘For the Romans history was above all, about composing plausible and credible narratives that would persuade the reader, bolstering the utility of such compositions.’81 This was due in part to education in the Roman period with its emphasis on rhetoric, as evidenced in the progymnasmata. Thirdly, Penner contends that during the Hellenistic period there was broad interest in the mythic, the marvellous, and the supernatural. This was due to several social, cultural, and literary factors. Consequently, ‘fictitious’ elements were included in a spectrum of writings, thus creating new genres. One result of this was the blurring of clear demarcations between separate genres: Biography had increasingly focused attention on praising or denigrating particular individuals, often becoming, through the elaboration of historical details and the utilization of stock topoi of characterization, a tool of propaganda and 78 79 80

Cf. Lucian, De hist. conscr. 50. Penner, In Praise of Christian Origins, p. 111. Ibid., pp. 104–20. 81 Ibid., p. 129.

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polemic. At the same time, the line between history, encomium, and biography was becoming difficult to establish firmly. Thus, the particular interests, emphases, and rules of one type of genre were easily adapted to another.82 With this ‘fictive’ substratum beneath ancient history of the Roman period, it is misguided for the student of Acts to ask primarily historical questions of the narrative and speech of Stephen. In other words, historicity was not the principal standard for ancient readers in their evaluation of a historical piece. Thus, for modern readers to be overly preoccupied with this is anachronistic and may distort their understanding of the narrative and the speech. The third prominent point emerging from Penner’s work is generic. Having noted the broader context of ancient historiography, Penner moves to a more particular historiographic tack that would closer suit the religious and literary collocation of Acts. He thus proceeds to examine Acts 6.1–8.3 under the rubric of ‘Jewish apologetic historiography’.83 Examples of Jewish apologetic historiography include the Letter of Aristeas, the Antiquities of Josephus, and some of Philo’s works. This genre, conceived within the matrix of Hellenistic and Roman historiography, argues from an epideictic posture: it praises the particular tradition to which it belongs while engaging in invective against its opponents. In addition, it has the purpose of providing identity formation to its readers, many of which are insiders.84 While Penner does not argue that this genre is a direct forebear to Luke– Acts, he does believe that Luke–Acts is written within the tradition of Jewish apologetic historiography. The above analysis of Penner’s work has been chiefly descriptive.85 The examination has attempted to demonstrate that, in one of the Ibid., pp. 135–6. 83 On apologetic historiography, see the Introduction. Penner, In Praise of Christian Origins, pp. 223–60. 85 Penner could be criticised for what appear to be several deficiencies in his various arguments. His conception of ancient historiography, although admittedly helpful, is one-sided, due perhaps to faulty reasoning. I offer two examples. First, Penner confuses the conception of ancient history with the practice of some (perhaps many) historians. To argue that – because many historians engaged in blatant dishonesty, therefore the ancient conception of historiography operated under fundamentally different epistemological foundations from modern concepts, i.e. the value of ancient history was not at all dependent on the correlation between the evidence given in the work to the bruta facta of the ‘real’ world – is flawed. That some historians were mendacious does not mean that history was conceived of as fundamentally fictive. Secondly, Penner points out that there existed a topos in ancient history where tragic history was condemned (p. 118). Penner opines that this was a rhetorical manoeuvre on the part of ‘documentary’ historians to gain a more favourable hearing. The implication is that because this was 82 84

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most recent and competent major treatments of a significant speech in Acts, the panorama of inquiry has been broadened to include questions of historiography, literary technique, and genre. The work of Penner illustrates that study of the speeches should not only focus on matters of historicity and theology (important though these are), but also on other themes that are of importance to the discipline of New Testament studies as a whole. The speeches in Acts can thus function as a meeting place where scholars can debate, for example, the poetics of Luke’s work as well as its historiographic conception. The current study falls within this trajectory, although it remains to a certain extent moored to past inquiries in its additional concentration on Luke’s theology. 2.7

Conclusion

The present chapter has attempted to show, first of all, that the speeches of outsiders in Acts have not received sufficient attention. Rather, for the majority of the nineteenth century and roughly the first half of the twentieth the focus has been on the historicity of the speeches. Scholars such as F.F. Bruce, Colin Hemer,86 and W.W. Gasque have sought to defend the fundamental historical reliability of the speeches. Another quarter of scholarship, best represented by the works of Dibelius, Haenchen, Conzelmann, and Wilckens, has viewed the speeches as either free inventions or as heavily tampered with by the creative pen of Luke. The emphasis here was on Luke the theologian as viewed through the speeches. Apart from Dibelius, who considered the speeches of outsiders as inconsequential, and Soards’ forays into these speeches in his goal of examining every speech in Acts, the speeches of outsiders have been neglected. Why has this been the case? This leads to my second point. I believe that the speeches of opponents have received little attention for the following two causes. First, it must be acknowledged that one of the reasons why we have been preoccupied with Acts is that it is the sole canonical book that narrates the thoughts and activities of the primitive church. The book of Acts has been traditionally viewed as

a topos, the assertion was merely rhetorical and not truthful. But can we not have topos and truth at the same time? Must the rhetorical by definition exclude the truthful? Penner’s ‘either/or’ logic here is unconvincing. 86 Colin Hemer, The Book of Acts in the Setting of Hellenistic History, ed. Conrad Gempf (Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr, 1989), pp. 415–27.

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indispensable for our understanding of apostolic Christianity. It is thus only natural that we would want to know, via the medium of narrative, what things were said and done by those who have been recognised as pillars of Christendom, especially Peter and Paul: what did they believe? What did they preach? How did they preach?87 These are very important questions for those who take seriously the canonical status of Acts. It should thus not be surprising that readers of Acts have concentrated on the ‘main’ speeches of Peter, Stephen, and Paul. These were and continue to be worthy endeavours. Nevertheless, the towering status of these speeches for the historical knowledge of firstcentury Christianity may have caused scholars to regard other speeches in Acts as insignificant dwarfs, particularly the speeches of outsiders; in our desire to know the beliefs of the early church, perhaps no great interest existed in knowing what outsiders had to say about Christianity. After all, we have the eloquent records of Pliny the Younger and Galen (among others), outsiders themselves, for the view of those outside the church. Thus, paradoxically, it is plausible that legitimate historical questions may have obscured important aspects of Luke’s work. The second reason why I believe the speeches of opponents have been overlooked has to do not with history but with theology. I have outlined in this chapter how Dibelius erected a wall between Luke the historian and Luke the theologian, a wall that Conzelmann extended even higher. This last author in particular believed that the speeches in Acts were packed with the theology of Luke, who had invented most of the speeches: ‘Thus we can recognize in the speeches the specifically Lukan theology with its understanding of Christology, Scripture, promise and fulfilment, and the pattern of salvation – repentance – baptism.’88 If the interest of many scholars during this period rested on the theology of Luke, and if the theology of Luke is best captured in the speeches of Acts, then it is not surprising that studies of the speeches concentrated on those characters who were thought to be pivotal to Luke’s presentation of early Christianity, namely the apostles and their close companions. We can thus see how an overemphasis on one facet of Luke’s opus may have led to the 87 See in this respect the work of C.H. Dodd, The Apostolic Preaching and its Development (London: Hodder, 1936), p. 8, ‘We have to enquire how far it is possible to discover the actual content of the Gospel preached or proclaimed by the apostles.’ 88 Hans Conzelmann, A Commentary on the Acts of the Apostles, trans. James Limburg, A. Thomas Kraabel, and Donald H. Juel (Philadelphia, PA: Fortress Press, 1987), p. xliv.

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neglect of another. At the root of this overemphasis may lie a lack of literary, historiographic, and theological sophistication that leads to the belief that our understanding of Luke’s theology is to be gathered exclusively from characters who agree with his point of view. As I noted in the Introduction, the ‘Other’ is just as important in discerning an author’s ideology. Having shown that the speeches of opponents have been overlooked because of historical and theological reasons, I now seek to illuminate the track of this study in relation to previous studies on the speeches of Acts. First, the orientation of the work falls within the trajectory begun by Dibelius and continued in contemporary treatments such as those of Soards and, more recently, Gaventa.89 That is to say, the emphasis falls not on the possible sources behind the speeches of outsiders or on their historicity, but rather on the function of these speeches in Luke’s second volume. The direction, in other words, is closer to narratival ends.90 Secondly, the current work attempts to shed light on historiographic questions, analogous in this aspect to the work of Penner. I shall propose that, insofar as the speeches of outsiders are concerned, Luke’s historiographic horizon is far closer to the Hebrew and Jewish tradition. In particular, the speeches of outsiders in Acts demonstrate Luke’s ideational explicitness, an overt stance which clashes violently with the Greco-Roman tradition of historical writing.91 In the same historiographic vein, I shall use the speeches to offer suggestions about the generic orientation of Acts.92 I shall suggest that Acts shares substantial generic affinities with Second Temple historical works, thus encouraging future scholarship of Acts in this comparative direction. I have sought to demonstrate that there exists a need in current Acts’ scholarship to examine the speeches of outsiders: I have suggested that an author’s historiographic/theological milieu can come into clearer view if we analyse the place he assigns to the outsider (Introduction). In the current chapter I have shown that the speeches See Beverly Gaventa, ‘Theology and Ecclesiology in the Miletus Speech: Reflections on Content and Context’, NTS 50 (2004): 36–52. 90 This is the case both in the method of Lukan composition (poetics) and in the actual message of the speeches. 91 See chapter three. 92 Similarly, see the recent article of Richard Pervo, ‘Direct Speech in Acts and the Question of Genre’, JSNT 28 (2006): 285–307, where a comparison of direct speech between Acts and several works of different genres (historical monographs, biographies, and novels) yields a similar percentage of direct speech between Acts and novels. 89

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of outsiders in Acts have been neglected. I have also provided some hypotheses as to why these speeches have been overlooked. Lastly, I situated this study in the contemporary trajectory that looks at the speeches in Acts not primarily for their historicity, but rather for the insight that they provide into Acts’ historiography and theology. With these introductory concerns presented, I begin in the following chapter my analysis of the speeches of outsiders in Jewish literature.

3 T H E S P E E C H E S OF O U T S I D E R S IN SELECTED BIBLICAL AND SECOND TEMPLE NARRATIVE LITERATURE

In this chapter we shall be exploring the place of the Other in literature from selected biblical passages and Second Temple narrative. What function does the outsider play in these writings? In what way does the presentation of the outsider help in the construction of Jewish identity? The fruits that this investigation can yield for our understanding of the function of the speeches of outsiders in Acts are several: (1) it can refine our understanding of Luke’s method in Acts by observing similarities and differences between the corpora being compared; (2) it can help us better locate Luke’s historiographic matrix; (3) it can help clarify the overall purpose of Luke–Acts; and (4) it can shed light on the historical circumstances of Luke–Acts’ audience. All of these issues have and continue to be amply debated in Luke–Acts’ scholarship without a dominant consensus having emerged. Therefore, the present chapter is offered as a modest contribution to aid in the progress of our understanding of these issues in Lukan studies. In short, I shall employ the category of the Other (by means of their speeches) as a grid through which to understand the poetics and historiography/theology of the Hebrew and Jewish works examined, and thus shed light on Luke’s use of the speeches of outsiders in his second volume. My investigation in this chapter is restricted to the Greek Bible and Second Temple narratives. The decision to limit my enquiry to these corpora is based partly on the scope of this project; it is also based on the scholarly agreement that the Greek Bible, in one form or another, has had a formative influence on Luke. As such, we would expect that a number of motifs found in Luke may potentially find their genesis in this corpus. The following statement from Loveday Alexander alerts us to this potential: La Bible grecque a exercé une profonde influence sur l’œuvre de Luc. Pour dire vrai, son impact se manifeste à chaque 42

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niveau du discours de Luc: la citation et l’allusion, le style, la gestion de récit. Mais ceci n’est pas simplement un hommage formel à une culture classique. La Bible fournit aussi la préhistoire que donne à l’histoire de Luc la profondeur de son récit, et qui fixe les modèles narratifs déterminant la manière dont il raconte sa propre histoire. Il est hors de doute que nous traitons ici d’intertextualité dans son sens le plus fort; de la masse des citations directes, il ressort en effet clairement que Luc connaissait et utilisait consciemment la Bible grecque en composant son œuvre.1 The legitimacy of employing a number of Second Temple narratives to compare with Luke stems from the possibility that he was familiar with some of these works. Josephus, for example, in the Jewish Antiquities, drew on 1 Maccabees and the Letter of Aristeas for his narration of some periods of Jewish post-biblical history. This may indicate that such Second Temple works were available and that Luke may have been acquainted with them. Whether he knew these narratives or not, a number of scholars have suggested that Luke shares many affinities with them and that therefore his historiography may have been nourished in a similar interpretative soil.2 Based upon these

1 Loveday Alexander, ‘L’intertextualité et la question des lecteurs. Réflexions sur l’usage de la Bible dans les Actes des Apôtres’, in Intertextualités: la Bible en échos, ed. Daniel Marguerat and Adrian Curtis (Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 2000), p. 201. Similarly, Jacob Jervell, Die Apostelgeschichte (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1998), p. 78, although going beyond Alexander, states the following:

Es gibt für Lukas nur eine Geschichte von Bedeutung, nämlich die Geschichte Israels. Die Geschichte der Völker ist uninteressant und ohne Bedeutung, weil allein die Geschichte des Gottesvolkes die Geschichte Gottes mit der Welt ist. So ist diese Geschichte auch viel mehr als ein Ausschnitt aus einer grösseren Geschichte. Lukas selbst schreibt seine Geschichte als einen Teil der biblischen Geschichte. Daher kommt auch seine Imitation des Septuagintastils. Und die Geschichte des Gottesvolkes in der Vorzeit wie in der Gegenwart ist in den heiligen Schriften zu finden. So ist vor allem ein Vergleich mit den biblischen Modellen und den hellenistisch-jüdischen Schriften wichtig. On Luke and the Greek Bible, see further Kenneth D. Litwak, Echoes of Scripture in Luke–Acts: Telling the History of God’s People Intertextually (London: T&T Clark, 2005), pp. 1–30. 2 Thus Jervell, Apostelgeschichte, p. 75, following the work of Albert Wifstrand, states: ‘Die Lukanische Sprache ist von einem jüdischen Milieu geprägt, zeigt also ein Griechisch, wie es im hellenistischen Judentum gesprochen wurde.’ On Luke’s language and its proximity to other Jewish-Hellenistic authors, see further Lars Rydbeck, ‘The Language of the New Testament’, TynBul 49 (1998): 366–8.

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observations, the current chapter is limited to biblical and Second Temple narrative material. 3.1

Ezra3

The author of Ezra has included a total of six speeches of outsiders in his work. Without exception, they are presented in the form of letters.4 Of these six speeches, three conform to the pattern being examined in this project and are thus included in this investigation. They are the speeches of Cyrus (1.1–4), Darius (6.1–12), and Artaxerxes (7.1–26). Before proceeding to examine these speeches, an overview of the book of Ezra is provided below. In 587 BCE the Babylonians attacked and destroyed Jerusalem as well as its central institution, the temple. The catastrophe was of such magnitude that the southern kingdom of Judah effectively came to an end. Many of the inhabitants of Judah were exiled to Babylon, with some of the poorer people of the land being allowed to stay in a now economically depressed Judah.5 Nevertheless, the words of the prophets (particularly Second Isaiah and Jeremiah) had given the people hope that the exile would eventually end and that the opportunity of a return to Jerusalem would be possible. This was important not only for nationalistic reasons, but perhaps mainly because the temple could be rebuilt and thus the integral cultic practices be resumed. At the risk of overstatement, it could be said that, for many of the Jews, Jerusalem without her temple was but a caricature of her real self. Consequently, there was the hope on the part of the

3

The text consulted for this section is the Greek translation of the Hebrew work Ezra–Nehemiah, that is, 2 Esdras or Ἐσδρας Β. The edition is that of Robert Hanhart, Esdrae liber II (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1993). Although the separate work 1 Esdras contains most of Ezra and Nehemiah, it is nevertheless different in structure and scope. Although there is no doubt that Josephus made use of 1 Esdras rather than the Greek translation of Ezra–Nehemiah, there is still sufficient evidence to suggest that the latter translation was known to ancient readers (see H. E. Ryle, The Books of Ezra and Nehemiah [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1897]). For an extended discussion of this complex issue, see Tamara Cohn Eskenazi, In an Age of Prose: A Literary Approach to Ezra–Nehemiah (Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press, 1988), pp. 155–74; Lester L. Grabbe, Ezra–Nehemiah (London: Routledge, 1998), pp. 93–122. It should be kept in mind that, as far as the speeches are concerned, the two texts convey a similar message. 4 For the opinion that the letter may have been viewed by ancient readers under the same category as speeches, see under §7.2.4. 5 See Peter R. Ackroyd, Exile and Restoration: A Study of Hebrew Thought of the Sixth Century BC (London: SCM Press, 1968), pp. 20–31.

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exiles that one day a return to Jerusalem would occur. The book of Ezra is set on the threshold of this return. The book consists of two main sections of material which are thematically different. Chapters 1–6 focus primarily on the rebuilding of the temple. Chapters 7–10, by contrast, concentrate on the person and achievements of Ezra, to the point that they could almost be labelled a βίος. In addition, unlike chs. 1–6, chs. 7–10 alternate between the third and the first person.6 Despite these differences, it could be said that both sections are connected by the theological conclusion that both the rebuilding of the temple in general and Ezra’s activities in particular to beautify the temple were the result of God’s benevolent will. As with much narrative in both the Old and New Testaments, the book of Ezra (particularly chs. 1–6) is built on a tripartite scheme of (1) divine pledge, (2) conflict, and (3) resolution.7 The pledge in the book of Ezra is found in the opening paragraph with the edict of Cyrus allowing the Jews to return to Jerusalem in order to reconstruct the temple. This possibility is temporarily thwarted by the people of the land (4.4), whom the narrator explicitly calls the ‘adversaries of Judah and Benjamin’ (4.1). The conflict spans the remaining reign of Cyrus up to the reign of Darius. In order to underline the obstacles facing the builders, the narrator makes a chronological leap forward in 4.6–23, where Artaxerxes commands the cessation of the building of Jerusalem’s walls.8 The resolution is told in chs. 5 and 6, where the narrator returns to the time of Darius and relates the completion and dedication of the temple. This forms the climactic section of the first six chapters of Ezra. A similar scheme can be found in the more biographic section of Ezra, namely chs. 7–10, although the climax is subdued, probably in anticipation of Neh. 13.9 6 This has given rise to the postulation of an ‘Ezra Memoir’ (EM) – separate from the author’s editorial work – to account for the composition of chs. 7–10. Others do not accept this view, stating that chs. 7–10 are a product of the editorial work of the Chronicler. On the former view, see H.G.M. Williamson, Ezra, Nehemiah (Waco, TX: Word, 1985), pp. xxviii–xxxii. For the latter view but with important modifications, see W. Th. In der Smitten, Esra: Quellen, Überlieferung und Geschichte (Assen: Van Gorcum, 1973). 7 On the OT, see Shimeon Bar-Efrat, Narrative Art in the Bible (London: T&T Clark, 2005), pp. 121–3. 8 I follow Williamson, Ezra, Nehemiah, pp. 56–60, in viewing 4.6–23 as a parenthetical example of the opposition that the returnees faced: ‘It is not difficult to explain why the writer should have wanted to include this digression here. He had just recorded an apparently harsh rejection of an offer of help with the rebuilding of the temple. Here he has sought to justify this by showing how, in the light of history, his earlier designation of this group as “the enemies of Judah and Benjamin” (4:1) was entirely justified’ (p. 57). 9 See Williamson, Ezra, Nehemiah, pp. xlviii–xlix.

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In her monograph on Ezra–Nehemiah, Tamara Cohn Eskenazi has proposed a structuralist schematisation of these books that resembles the one proposed above for Ezra 1–6 and 7–10.10 She views the story presented in the books as exhibiting (1) potentiality (objective defined), (2) process of actualisation (steps taken to achieve objective), and lastly (3) success (objective reached). The decree of Cyrus plays the role of potentiality: ‘What will follow in subsequent chapters is the process of actualization of this potentiality, i.e., the fulfilment of the decree.’11 The process of actualisation is narrated from Ezra 1.5 to Neh. 7.72. In this part of the scheme, the author ‘depicts the various steps taken by the community to execute the decree and build the house of God’.12 The final feature is that of success. Here the narrative reaches the end to which it had been moving the entire time. Consequently, success introduces celebration: ‘The movements come together, flow into a grand symphonic finale, replaying the individual motifs and instruments of earlier movements in a fullness of polyphonic orchestration.’13 Eskenazi’s system is helpful in helping us see the ‘big picture’ of the books of Ezra–Nehemiah. It is a scheme, in fact, which is so amenable to a poetics of biblical narrative that it could be used at the macrolevel (as in two entire books, e.g. Ezra–Nehemiah) as well as at the micro-level (as in a section of a book, e.g. Ezra 1–6, or a single pericope). Nevertheless, the scheme fails sufficiently to emphasise the theme of conflict that is particularly visible in Ezra. The feature of ‘process of actualisation’ is riddled with this element.14 To give little account to this aspect of the story robs it of one of its principal dramatic features and may thus distort the overall message(s) of the book. Thus, I would like to highlight the element of conflict in the second movement of Eskenazi’s system to a greater extent than she has. One more observation is necessary before proceeding to explain what I believe to be the central theme(s) of Ezra. It is agreed by the majority of scholars that Cyrus plays a pivotal role in the narrative. It is his edict that provides the initial impetus for the return of the exiles. When the work comes to a temporary halt, it is an appeal to his edict 10 Eskenazi, In an Age of Prose, pp. 38–126. Her schematisation follows the work of Claude Bremond, ‘La logique des possibles narratifs’, Communications 8 (1966): 60–76. 11 Eskenazi, In an Age of Prose, p. 43. 12 Ibid., p. 44. 13 Ibid., p. 95. 14 Eskenazi does mention the conflict between the returnees and the people of the land, but only briefly (pp. 45, 52). This appears to be the result of her attempt to argue that the three main themes of Ezra–Nehemiah are community, house of God, and written texts empowered by God.

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that allows and encourages the continuation and eventual completion of the work. In the climactic passage at 6.14, it is exclaimed that the Jews ‘finished their building by command of the God of Israel and by decree of Cyrus, Darius, and King Artaxerxes of Persia’. This last passage is of particular importance, for it gives the dual perspective of the narrator in viewing Cyrus as the agent responsible for the commission to rebuild the temple, but only because Yahweh had decreed it. This brings us to Second Isaiah. In chs. 44 and 45 Cyrus is viewed as that individual who, moved by God, would give the initial surge to the reconstruction of the sanctuary. Isaiah 44.28 speaks of God, ‘who says of Cyrus, “He is my shepherd, and he shall carry out all my purpose”, and who says of Jerusalem, “It shall be rebuilt”, and of the temple, “Your foundations shall be laid”’. The thrust of the passage as well as the language resonates in Ezra 1.1–4. It could thus be concluded that the author of Ezra perceived in Cyrus’ edict a fulfilment of the words of the prophet.15 I am now in a position to state what I believe to be the principal theme of Ezra. I would posit that the author was trying to inculcate in his readers that in the events narrated in his work it was possible to see God’s involvement with his people Israel. Specifically, the message is that God was faithful to his promise of temple rebuilding in spite of what appeared to be very difficult obstacles.16 In short, the narrator, through the story, extols the faithfulness and sovereignty of Israel’s God: the former because he brought to pass what had been promised through the prophets, the latter because only a being in firm control of volatile worldwide events would be able to execute such specific promises.17 To explore how the speeches of outsiders function within this scheme is my next task. 15 As agreed by most scholars. The well-known problem here, of course, is that the edict of Cyrus is said to fulfil the words of Jeremiah. Most commentators point to Jer. 29.11 as the text to which Ezra 1.1 alludes. Williamson, Ezra, Nehemiah, p. 10, has also directed attention to Jer. 51 as a possible passage being echoed in Ezra. While it is not disputed that certain passages from Jeremiah are behind Ezra 1.1, it is probable that, due to the closeness of language and thought, the texts from Isaiah were also exercising influence on the author’s composition. 16 Grabbe, Ezra–Nehemiah, p. 101: ‘The story is how God takes a people, defeated and exiled for their sins, and returns them to their land and creates a nation once again, a nation with a restored temple and cult. The achievements of this goal did not run smoothly … but by God’s help (working through the Persian regime) they prevailed.’ 17 Other themes are also of importance, e.g. Ezra’s own part in the events, the priority of the Mosaic law in regulating the new community’s praxis, and, as we shall see, the role of foreign potentates in Israel’s destiny.

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3.1.1

The speeches (1.1–4; 6.6–12; 7.11–26)

A reading of the speeches indicated above (uttered by Cyrus, Darius, and Artaxerxes) leads me to make the following comments as regard their function in the book of Ezra. First, the issue of the historicity of the edicts must be discussed, if only briefly. Although my approach has been primarily literary, it is nevertheless perilous completely to bracket out historical questions on writings which purport to transmit historical information. As a matter of fact, in the case of Ezra, this matter proves to be crucial for a proper interpretation. Not a few scholars either quickly dismiss these edicts as pure fabrications or as documents with which the author has heavily tampered. Thus Rudolph states: ‘Daß er trotz des stilechten Eingangs: “so spricht Cyrus” und trotz gewisser amtlicher Stilisierungen … nicht der königliche Originalerlaß ist, ergibt sich aus vielen Anzeichen, die die Hand des Chr. selbst verraten.’18 More recently, Grabbe has reached the following conclusion: The theological colouring of the decree, the fact that it is in Hebrew, the lack of a convincing parallel, and the fact that it so well fits the theological aim of the writer make it most likely that the decree [of Cyrus] is a creation of the author (or possibly another Jewish writer, from whom the writer took it, possibly in all innocence).19 Against these conclusions, Elias Bickerman and Roland de Vaux have marshalled the following arguments.20 As to the matter of ideology, it is shown from extant materials that the Persian kings, particularly Cyrus and Darius, openly honoured the deities of their conquered subjects. Both Bickerman and de Vaux point to the following inscription (the Cyrus Cylinder) relating to Cyrus: [Marduk] scanned and looked (through) all the countries, searching for a righteous ruler willing to lead him (i.e., Wilhelm Rudolph, Esra und Nehemiah (Tübingen: Mohr, 1949), p. 3. See also C.C. Torrey, Ezra Studies (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1910), p. 153; S. Mowinckel, ‘Neuere Forschungen zu Deuterojesaja, Tritojesaja und dem ÄbädJahwä-Problem’, Acta Orientalia 16 (1938): 27. 19 Grabbe, Ezra–Nehemiah, p. 128. 20 Elias Bickerman, ‘The Edict of Cyrus in Ezra 1’, in Studies in Jewish and Christian History. Part One (Leiden: Brill, 1976), pp. 72–108; Roland de Vaux, ‘The Decrees of Cyrus and Darius on the Rebuilding of the Temple’, in The Bible and the Ancient Near East, trans. J. McHugh (London: Darton, Longman & Todd, 1971), pp. 63–96. 18

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Marduk) (in the annual procession). (Then) he pronounced the name of Cyrus, king of Anshan, declared him to be (come) the ruler of all the world. He made the Guti country and all the Manda-hordes bow in submission to his (i.e., Cyrus’) feet. And he (Cyrus) did always endeavour to treat according to justice the black-headed whom he (Marduk) has made him conquer … He delivered into his (i.e., Cyrus’) hands Nabonidus, the king who did not worship him (i.e., Marduk).21 It is to be noted, of course, that the principal deity of the Achaemenids was Ahura Mazda, not Marduk. Nevertheless, in the context of their captives, they had no scruples in crediting foreign deities with their ability to conquer. A similar liberal religious policy on the part of the Achaemenids is visible with respect to the temples of those they had subjugated. The same inscription quoted above continues: (As to the region) from … as far as Ashur and Susa, Agade, Eshnunna, the towns Zamban, Me-Turnu, Der, as well as the region of the Gutians, I returned to (these) sacred cities on the other side of the Tigris, the sanctuaries of which have been ruins for a long time, the images which (used) to live therein and established for them permanent sanctuaries … Furthermore, I resettled upon the command of Marduk, the great lord, all the gods of Sumer and Akkad whom Nabonidus has brought into Babylon to the anger of the lord of the gods, unharmed, in their (former) chapels, the places which make them happy.22 From the above texts (and others),23 it is plausible to conclude that the edicts of Cyrus, Darius, and Artaxerxes found in the book of Ezra fit rather well with what we know from Persian policy. Therefore, to state that the edicts are free compositions of (a) pious Jewish writer(s)

21 ANET, p. 315. On Darius as having received ‘all the countries’ from ‘the double Nile’, see Bickerman, ‘The Edict of Cyrus’, p. 93. 22 ANET, p. 316. 23 For further examples of this policy with regard to Darius, see de Vaux, ‘The Decrees of Cyrus and Darius’, p. 69; Joseph Blenkinsopp, Ezra–Nehemiah: A Commentary (London: SCM Press, 1988), pp. 74–5. On Cyrus and the return of the gods to the temple of the moon-god Sin, see Amélie Kuhrt, ‘The Cyrus Cylinder and Achaemenid Imperial Policy’, JSOT 25 (1983): 89.

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fails seriously to take into account Persian imperial policy.24 It is crucial to note, however, that these assertions were political manoeuvres by these kings in order to secure the goodwill of their subjects. It was an astute move aimed at keeping the peace with other lands. I shall have more to say about this below. With regard to the language used in the edicts, it is objected that it betrays a Jewish hand. It is argued that there are expressions of ritual (e.g. Ezra 6.9) and details about the temple and cult which could not have come from a foreign king. De Vaux, however, gives the reasonable explanation that the edict may have been drafted with the aid of a Jew who may have held an honourable position in the Persian court (as, e.g., was the case with Nehemiah).25 It is very probable, in fact, that the Babylonian inscription exalting Cyrus due to his victory over Nabonidus (and hence the re-establishment of the worship of Marduk rather than the foreign god Sin) was written by the Babylonian priests themselves.26 The same dynamic could be operative in the case of Ezra. In any event, it would have been advantageous for the Persian kings to have a Jew (with native knowledge of his religion) help in the composition of the document. In this way, a more ‘authentic’ ring could be echoed, giving the impression that the king had gone through the trouble of familiarising himself with his subjects’ religion. This, of course, would be appreciated by the conquered. Bickerman, in addition, adduces several texts where it is shown that Persian administration employed the names of the deities as they were known by their native worshippers.27 We may thus conclude that it is quite plausible that the edicts preserved in Ezra are genuine documents which do not exhibit ideological tampering on the part of the Jewish author. Rather, when 24 Grabbe, Ezra–Nehemiah, pp. 127–8, for example, argues that, since the Cyrus Cylinder (and other extra-biblical evidence) refers to Babylon specifically (or other nations in general) and does not mention the Jews, it is fallacious to use it as a parallel to the biblical text. However, the issue is not – given the paucity of extant materials – whether a specific nation is named or not; rather, it is a matter of discerning Achaemenid policy from the documents that do survive. And those documents do evince a liberal religious policy towards subjugated nations. No one, as far as I know, is attempting to argue that the Cyrus Cylinder provides an exact parallel to Ezra. What is being argued is that the Cylinder is a window on Persian policy, placing the burden of proof on those who would call the edicts in Ezra an unusual occurrence. 25 De Vaux, ‘The Decrees of Cyrus and Darius’, p. 90. Cf. also D.J.A. Clines, Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1984), p. 36; Bickerman, ‘The Edict of Cyrus’, p. 97. 26 De Vaux, ‘The Decrees of Cyrus and Darius’, pp. 67–8. 27 Bickerman, ‘The Decree of Cyrus’, pp. 79–80.

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compared with other documents from Achaemenid administration, the edicts preserved in Ezra do not evince any unreasonable favouritism toward the Jews. It must also again be emphasised that the documentation of religious favours to their subjects on the part of the Persian kings was extremely propagandistic, attempting to portray them as pious rulers. Furthermore, it is probable that, being polytheists, these kings wanted to ensure that they had not offended a foreign deity for fear that it might come back to harm them. This is seen in the edict coming from Artaxerxes, where he commands that everything be done according to God’s will, lest ‘wrath … come upon the realm of the king and his heirs’ (Ezra 7.23). Bickerman astutely remarks concerning Cyrus: ‘He surely worshipped his ancestral gods, beginning with Ahura Mazda. But a reasonable man should not neglect other sources of energy, be it Anu, Marduk, or YHWH.’28 Consequently, we can be certain that the biblical text does not at all envision the ‘conversion’ of Cyrus or any of the other kings to an exclusive monotheistic belief in Yahweh. The Jewish God, in their view, was just another deity to appease; and (they may have reasoned) there could be no harm in that. Lastly, numerous scholars have called attention to the possible strategic advantages that the Persian Empire would have reaped by having the land of Judah as a loyal subject.29 Some have posited that in view of the Egyptian Revolt of ca 460 BCE (and the Athenian contribution to the revolt) it was in the empire’s best interest to ensure that no other lands in the region would defect from Persian grip.30 Hoglund himself is persuaded that the missions of Ezra and Nehemiah are best understood within the socio-economic interests of the Achaemenids. He states: As a consequence of this understanding of the context for the missions of Ezra and Nehemiah, it is clear that these missions were not, as has often been argued, the result of the empire rewarding the Restoration community for loyalty in the face of regional revolts. Rather, their missions were an effort on 28 Ibid, p. 97. The failure of many scholars to observe this very basic ethos of polytheism (or indeed syncretism or superstition) may go a long way in explaining their resistance to viewing the Ezra edicts as historically factual. One who has lived in a syncretistic society could readily see Cyrus’ tactic. 29 For the different hypotheses, see Kenneth G. Hoglund, Achaemenid Imperial Administration in Syria-Palestine and the Missions of Ezra and Nehemiah (Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press, 1992), pp. 51–91. 30 Ibid., pp. 88–9.

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The speeches of outsiders in Acts the part of the Achaemenid Empire to create a web of economic and social relationships that would tie the community more completely into the imperial system … Rather than being a reward, the missions of Ezra and Nehemiah were an effort to compel loyalty to the imperial system by tying the community’s self-interest to the goals of the empire.31

In short, when read in their historical context, the edicts allowing the rebuilding of the temple do not appear to be tendentious contraptions on the part of the biblical author. Having commented on the historicity of the speeches, I move to examine their place in the narrative. For this, we hark back to Eskenazi’s structure of potentiality, steps to solution, and success. In this scheme, the speech of Cyrus in 1.1–4 presents the potentiality. That is to say, the possibility of return from exile was opened by Cyrus’ edict. His command to the Jews in different lands to go to Jerusalem opened the door for the fulfilment of the word of the Lord by the prophet. The written speech of Cyrus is viewed by the sacred writer as that which, in the earthly sphere, mobilised the return of the exiles. The speech, therefore, effects a change in the state of affairs of the deported Jewish people. After potentiality, there follow the steps to solution. As I noted previously, however, the enterprise of temple rebuilding was fraught with opposition. The ‘people of the land’ created the main difficulty by threatening and discouraging the builders. Eventually, they informed Artaxerxes of the Jewish labour and incited the king to intervene by painting the Jews as historically seditious and power hungry. The king then commanded a temporary halt to their activities. Thus, in this second movement of the story it is again mainly the speech of an outsider that bends the action one way or another. The third and last stage is that of success. After the returnees had paused for approximately fifteen years, they restarted temple rebuilding at the behest of Haggai and Zechariah. At first, this act of defiance seemed to be headed towards disaster (5.3–4). However, upon the request of the Jews, Darius searched for the supposed edict of Cyrus; it was found in Ecbatana. Based on the find, Darius himself responded by sending a document which in fact renewed the old edict of Cyrus. In this way resolution, or success, was brought about. Thus, it could again be said that the speech of Darius effects 31

Ibid., p. 244.

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the success of the enterprise. In this way, the narrator wishes to tell his readers that Darius (along with Cyrus and Artaxerxes) was the means by which the word of the Lord was fulfilled. Indeed, this is stated explicitly in 6.14: ‘They finished their building by command of the God of Israel and by decree of Cyrus, Darius, and King Artaxerxes of Persia.’ A final point to be made with respect to the function of the speeches – and one which was briefly looked at above – concerns the relationship between the foreign kings and the Jewish God. As I pointed out, the comparative evidence confirms that the Persian kings embraced a progressive religious policy. They publicly acknowledged their debts to the deities of their conquered people as those responsible for helping them subdue those very nations. These confessions were carved in public places, such as temples, in order to be seen and appreciated by the subjugated nations. Does this mean that the Persian kings became devotees of these foreign deities? In other words, do documents like the Cyrus Cylinder or the edicts found in Ezra attempt to disclose the kings’ own religious convictions? This is possible. What is more probable is that their public confessions were propagandistic in nature. By telling their subjects that it was their own god(s) who had handed them the sceptre, they may have hoped to persuade the foreign nations to believe that it was the will of their own god(s) to have Cyrus or Artaxerxes ruling over them.32 This was idealistically charged, perhaps hoping to break over-zealous nationalistic fervour. Thus, we may be reasonably certain that by transmitting their edicts, the author of Ezra was not envisioning the conversion of the Persian rulers; this was not his concern. What mattered to him was the discernment of the divine impulse behind historical events; and in this he was clear: ‘in order that the word of the Lord by the mouth of Jeremiah might be accomplished’ (1.1). The people rejoiced, ‘for the Lord had made them joyful, and had turned the heart of the king of Assyria to them, so that he aided them in the work of the house of God, the God of Israel’ (6.22). The returnees worshipped, ‘Blessed be the Lord, the God of our ancestors, who put such a thing as this into the heart of the king to glorify the house of the Lord in Jerusalem’ (7.27). The author’s preoccupation was with interpreting the events which This, indeed, seems to be the thrust of the Cyrus Cylinder. Kuhrt, ‘The Cyrus Cylinder’, p. 88, states: ‘it was composed to commemorate his restoration of Babylon like that of his predecessor Assurbanipal, recount his accession and pious acts and demonstrate to subsequent generations his legitimacy as ruler of Babylon’ (emphasis added). 32

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had led to the return of the exiles and the rebuilding of the temple. He concluded that it was the hand of Yahweh that had moved the foreign kings to end the exile. The situation described above is powerfully ironic. On the one hand we see the Persian kings who, politically motivated, give the credit to Yahweh for their international victories and allow the reconstruction of the temple in a diplomatically astute move. They also allow the rebuilding in order to avoid possible divine retribution (7.23). On the other hand, there is the view of the narrator. He sits above the stage of events contemplating Cyrus, Darius, and Artaxerxes as each one acts to secure his dominion by force and plastic piety. What these kings do not realise is that through their imperialistic policies they are actually helping to bring about Yahweh’s plan. The narrator can have this privileged ‘aerial’ vantage point because he has been elevated there by the oracles of Jeremiah and Second Isaiah, the latter which promised concerning Cyrus: ‘I arm you, though you do not know me, so that they may know, from the rising of the sun and from the west, that there is no one besides me’ (Is. 45.5–6). But the kings are below, moving from one section of the stage to another without realising that they themselves are being moved to accomplish the will of the cosmic director. This dramatic ironic situation is a powerful medium through which the narrator can voice his convictions concerning the sovereignty and faithfulness of Yahweh.33 3.1.2

Conclusion

In the preceding pages I have attempted to measure the function of the written speeches of the non-Jews Cyrus, Darius, and Artaxerxes in the book of Ezra. In order to accomplish this, I deemed it necessary to set out the main themes being developed throughout the book. I concluded that, among other things, a principal theme developed in Ezra was that of God’s action in history in order to return his people from exile so that they could rebuild the temple. The message was that of God’s faithfulness and sovereignty in fulfilling what he had promised through his prophets. The written speeches of the outsiders, I 33 Josephus, Ant. 11.1.2, seems to domesticate (and thereby bring a rationalistic interpretation to) the dramatic irony of the text by making the statement that Cyrus had read about his own prophecies in the book of Isaiah: ‘These things Cyrus knew from reading the book of prophecy which Isaiah had left behind two hundred and ten years earlier … And so, when Cyrus read them, he wondered at the divine power and was seized by a strong desire and ambition to do what had been written …’

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believe, are integral to this message. It is by the edict of Cyrus that the enterprise of temple rebuilding begins (potentiality); it is by an edict of Artaxerxes that the situation is complicated (steps to solution); it is by an edict of Darius that the rebuilding resumes and is brought to completion (success). The written speeches of these outsiders, according to the author of Ezra, are the cogs that move the history of the Jews to its appointed divine telos. I also examined the historicity of these edicts. It was proposed that they were reflective of Achaemenid imperial policy, ultimately aimed at securing the loyalty of their subjects so that these in turn would help to maintain the empire intact. In other words, the edicts favouring the Jews were not meant to be reflective of some personal monotheistic devotion to Yahweh on the part of the Persian kings. There was irony in this. While Cyrus and his royal descendants procured the restoration of the exiled community primarily out of imperial interests, the biblical author saw in their actions the good hand of his God guiding even the kings’ decisions to bring to pass what he had promised through the prophets. 3.2

Daniel

There are four main segments of discourse by outsiders in the book of Daniel: 2.46–7; 3.95–6; 4.34; 6.25–7.34 Three of these speeches belong to King Nebuchadnezzar and one to Darius.35 In order properly to gauge the function of these speeches in Daniel, it is important to place them in their narrative context.

34 Since my interaction with these Old Testament passages is with the Old Greek (OG), the verse references above are reflective of this. The Greek text followed is the OG of the Göttingen edition by Joseph Ziegler, Susanna, Daniel, Bel et Draco (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1954). This edition has the advantage of having incorporated Manuscript 967 (but not in its entirety), which is generally believed to be the oldest and most reliable witness of the Old Greek (see Tim McLay, The OG and the Th Versions of Daniel [Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press, 1996], p. 7; idem, ‘The Old Greek Translation of Daniel iv–vi and the formation of the Book of Daniel’, VT 55 [2005]: 304–23). Although the OG shows strong Tendenz (particularly in 4.34 and 6.26–7 with respect to the kings’ attitudes toward Yahweh and an emphasis on monotheism), which is lacking in the translation attributed to Theodotion (y’), it is nevertheless probably a closer representation of its Vorlage, assumed here to be similar to MT. The exception would be chs. 4–6, where it is possible that a different translator was operating from chs. 1–3 and 7–12. See McLay, The OG and the Th, pp. 10–16 and passim. 35 4.34c of the speech of Nebuchadnezzar as well as the speech of Darius in its entirety are contained in circular letters.

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It is agreed by most scholars that Dan. 1–6 forms a coherent literary unit.36 This unity is suggested by the genre of the chapters. That is, as opposed to 7–12, chs. 1–6 exhibit an overall story framework.37 The unity of the chapters may also be suggested by a possible concentric construction crafted by the author to provide structure.38 Another attractive suggestion has been made by W. Sibley Towner, who shows how the poetic passages peppered through chs. 1–6 serve to unite the entire narrative.39 These views (with the exception of Lenglet) are all complementary, providing strong support for the opinion that chs. 1–6 are to be read as a unity. Given the unity of these chapters, we may now move to the thematic question: what is the main message(s) being communicated in these chapters? In order to provide an answer it is necessary to give a sketch of their contents. The first chapter provides two clues that may help the reader chart the plot of the remaining five chapters of narrative. First, the narrator states in 1.2 that ‘the Lord gave (παρέδωκεν) it [Jerusalem] into his [Nebuchadnezzar’s] hands as well as Jehoiakim the king of Judah and a certain part of the Temple of the Lord’s vessels’. This is one of the few places in chs. 1–6 where the implied author intervenes in his capacity of omniscient ‘theological’ narrator.40 Indeed, the narrator here acts as an authoritative interpreter of historical events, informing his readers that the catastrophic events which had transpired were superintended by the Lord. The mention of God’s lordship over history as 36 Whether or not the chapters’ unity is the result of a later redactor is not my concern here. My focus is on the final form of the text and the principal theme(s) emerging from it. On the possible process of formation of Dan. 1–6, see John J. Collins, A Commentary on the Book of Daniel with an Essay, ‘The Influence of Daniel on the New Testament’, by Adela Yarbro Collins (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1993), pp. 35–8. 37 The precise genre of Dan. 1–6, however, has proved elusive, with suggestions varying between romance, midrash, legend, and court tale, among others (see Lawrence M. Wills, The Jew in the Court of the Foreign King: Ancient Jewish Court Legends [Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1990]). Dana Fewell, Circle of Sovereignty: A Story of Stories in Daniel 1–6 (Sheffield: Almond Press,1988), p. 9, has contented herself with calling the chapters ‘narrative material’. We might not be able to go further than her designation. 38 This is the suggestion of A. Lenglet, ‘La structure littéraire de Daniel 2–7’, Bib 53 (1972): 169–90. The obvious weakness of his proposal is the extraction of ch. 1 and the addition of ch. 7: most scholars agree that the medium of the book’s message changes radically after ch. 6. 39 W. Sibley Towner, ‘The Poetic Passages of Daniel 1–6’, CBQ 31 (1969): 317–26. 40 I could only locate three other places where the narrator assumes this stance: 1.9, 17; and 6.23, where the narrative aside of the author is missing from the OG. Therefore, the reference is to MT. θ’ follows MT.

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well as the narrator’s authoritative interpretative stance invite the audience to view the stories retold in chs. 1–6 as directly under God’s sovereignty and not as being directed by the whims of foreign kings.41 The second clue provided with respect to the plotline of the book is again encountered in 1.2. We are told that Nebuchadnezzar brought the vessels that he took from the temple and placed them ‘in his idol’s temple’ (ἐν τῷ εἰδωλίῳ αὐτοῦ). The imagery, as well as some of the wording, echo the taking of the Ark of the Covenant by the Philistines and their placing it in the house of Dagon (1 Sam. 5).42 This latter text goes on to describe a battle between Yahweh and the god Dagon where the Israelite deity convincingly defeated the Philistine god. It is possible that the memory of this ancient encounter may have been triggered in the minds of Daniel’s audience by the description and wording provided in 1.2. This would help to focus the remaining narrative as a battle between Yahweh and the Babylonian gods.43 The remainder of Dan. 1 asks and answers the following question: what will happen to Daniel and his friends if they choose to obey God’s dietary law instead of submitting to the royal court’s requirements? The answer to be inferred from the narrative is that God is faithful to his servants and that his precepts are superior to those of the Babylonians. This is emphasized in 1.15, where it is stated that Daniel and his friends looked physically better than those who ate from the king’s rations. The chapter reaches its peak in 1.20, where it is said that Daniel and his friends were far superior to the magicians and wise men of Babylon. The conclusion to be drawn is that the young Judeans’ God is greater than the Babylonian gods.44 The accent of Dan. 2 again falls on God’s superiority over the Babylonian gods. His superiority resides in his ability to reveal the hidden secrets of the times, to change the times and seasons, and to enthrone and depose kings. That this is the thrust of the chapter is particularly visible in the plausibility that 2.19b–23 forms one of the two high points of the narrative. Verse 19a is disproportionate to its See also Fewell’s similar observations in Circle of Sovereignty, p. 35. The verbal parallel is more obvious in θ’, where, as in 1 Sam. 5.2, the verb εἰσφέρω is used to describe the movement of the holy articles. 43 Cf. John E. Goldingay, Daniel (Dallas, TX: Word, 1989), p. 15. 44 Goldingay, Daniel, p. 27: ‘If the God of Israel is God, it is to be expected that he will enable his people to offer better counsel than those who seek their wisdom from other sources.’ See also André Lacocque, The Book of Daniel, trans. David Pellauer (Atlanta, GA: John Knox Press, 1979), p. 33. 41 42

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preceding build up, giving very few nondescript words about the revelation of the dream and its interpretation: ‘Then in a vision in the night the mystery was disclosed clearly to Daniel.’ No more is said of the act of revelation which secured Daniel’s survival. By contrast, the doxology of 2.19b–23 is long and detailed, leading the reader to dwell on it rather than on Daniel’s act of interpretation itself: Then Daniel blessed the Lord most high and crying out said: ‘Let the name of the great Lord be praised forever, because wisdom and majesty are his. And he changes times and seasons, deposing and setting up kings, giving wisdom to the wise and knowledge to those who have understanding, revealing profound and obscure things and knowing things that are in the darkness and those that are in the light, and shelter is near him. You, Lord of my fathers, I bless and praise, because you gave me wisdom and insight, and now you have thought me worthy to reveal these things to the king.’ I would thus suggest that the theme of ch. 2 is that the Jewish God is above Babylonian deities because he knows the times and seasons, and replaces and sets up kings as he wishes. He does this because he is the one who directs the affairs of history. In addition, he is able to reveal mysteries precisely because he knows things before they occur. Jack N. Lawson has corroborated this point in an article exploring the Mesopotamian background of Dan. 2.47.45 His study of numerous Akkadian texts reveals that the sages of Mesopotamia acted as mantic sages, receiving divine revelation which they subsequently codified. Therefore, the issue in Dan. 2 was not Yahweh’s ability vis-à-vis Babylonian manuals, rather, it was on who was capable of revealing mysteries, that is, which deity. Lawson concludes: ‘The difference between the two traditions [Jewish and Mesopotamian] is not one of kind, but quality … The only real distinction in Daniel is the identity and competence of the deity doing the revealing …’46 These are points which are stressed in Nebuchadnezzar’s dream as well as in his subsequent speech. Philip Davies thus also concludes: ‘The hymn stresses the two points already made, that God is in control of the affairs of men, removing and setting up kings (21);

45 Jack N. Lawson, ‘“The God who Reveals Secrets”: The Mesopotamian Background to Daniel 2.47’, JSOT 74 (1997): 61–75. 46 Lawson, ‘The God who Reveals’, 75.

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and that God is the source of true wisdom, who knows all secrets and reveals them to the wise (21–2).’47 Daniel 3 is the well-known story of the three young men who were cast into the fiery furnace for their allegiance to Yahweh. The pivotal point of the chapter is brought into view by Nebuchadnezzar’s insolent question in 3.15: ‘And what kind (ποῖος) of God will rescue you from my hands?’ God sent his angel who miraculously delivered the three young men without the latter suffering any harm. The implication, expressed by Nebuchadnezzar himself in 3.95–6, is that the God of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego is superior to all other deities. If the golden statue of ch. 3 is a representation of Nebuchadnezzar himself,48 the way is prepared for the king’s humiliation in the following story. Daniel 4 is a recounting of Nebuchadnezzar’s humiliation and restoration. Whereas in the previous three chapters Daniel and/or his companions were the dominant characters, ch. 4 by contrast has King Nebuchadnezzar at the centre. Nevertheless, a close reading reveals that the text is ultimately about God’s praise.49 Specifically, the chapter is about God’s ability to perform great deeds, illustrated in this case by Nebuchadnezzar’s temporary dethronement and subsequent restoration. The motif of humiliation is poignant, as shown by Nebuchadnezzar’s insanity and its accompanying animal-like behaviour. This is repeated three times (in the OG) in the narrative: 4.11–13 (angel), 28–29 (voice from heaven), 30a–c (Nebuchadnezzar). This repetition, common in Hebrew narrative, leads the reader to view the king’s humiliation as one of the section’s main themes. The point is thus reinforced that Yahweh is king and that he enthrones and dethrones as he wishes. Daniel 5 continues the theme of the previous chapter, demonstrating in this case the permanent dethronement of those who choose not to acknowledge the lordship of the Jewish God. It is a continuation of ch. 4.50 The theme of Yahweh’s lordship thus continues in this

Philip Davies, ‘Daniel Chapter Two’, JTS 27 (1976): 395. See also Goldingay, Daniel, pp. 56–7. 48 Cf. Goldingay, Daniel, p. 70. 49 Fewell, Circle of Sovereignty, p. 90: ‘The story we are about to hear will explain the king’s song of praise to the Most High.’ 50 Lenglet, ‘La structure littéraire’, 187: ‘Dans le cas de chapitres 4 et 5 au contraire le dernier des deux n’est pas le redoublement du premier, mais sa continuation: le récit qui raconte comment le roi Balthasar s’attire sa condamnation ne peut se comprendre qu’à la lumière du document qui le précède.’ 47

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chapter. In addition, polemic against idolatry is stronger than in previous chapters. The OG in particular is emphatic on its attack on idolatry, as its preface to the chapter shows.51 King Baltasar made a great feast for his friends in which he arrogantly drank wine from the vessels of Jerusalem’s temple. At that moment a mysterious hand appeared which wrote words that none of the Babylonian wise men was able to decipher. Daniel, however, was called in, and he was able to interpret the writing on the wall. The interpretation consisted of words of condemnation for King Baltasar, the essence being that, rather than honouring the living God, he had instead praised idols and committed a sacrilegious action by drinking from the vessels of Yahweh’s house. He would therefore lose his kingdom. Baltasar died and his kingdom was given to another. Chapter 6 is the last section of Daniel composed primarily in the form of a narrative. The story is similar to ch. 3 in that the issue is God’s ability, or lack thereof, to deliver his servants from what would seem to be impossible circumstances. As in ch. 3, the lens of the narrator focuses on the king’s statement vis-à-vis God’s capacity to deliver his people: ‘Then Darius the king, having cried out, said to Daniel: “your God, whom you worship constantly, three times per day, he himself will rescue you from the hand of the lions”’ (6.16).52 This is an instant of dramatic irony, where the king says more than he knows but where the audience, having access to the entire narrative, is aware that he has just spoken truthfully.53 Daniel was indeed delivered from the lions, according to the OG, by God’s predetermination.54 The chapter concludes with an encyclical redacted by Darius in which the praise of Daniel’s God was encouraged. The overview given above puts me in a better position to state the main theme(s) of Dan. 1–6 and hence better appreciate how the nonJewish speeches function within this narrative web. I suggest the following principal theme.

51 The OG, as far as structure is concerned, is radically different from MT. For possible sources of the OG, see Collins, Daniel, pp. 241–3. 52 The OG is less ambiguous than MT, where the form of the verb (‘rescue’) allows for the king’s statement to be a wish or a faith statement. See Goldingay, Daniel, p. 132. The OG employs a future indicative. 53 Pace Fewell, Circle of Sovereignty, p. 150, who opines that the king’s words betray a pessimistic outlook for Daniel’s life in the opinion of Darius. 54 πρόνοιαν. The MT, of course, has Daniel saying that God sent his angel to shut the lions’ mouths. Collins, Daniel, p. 271, comments that Josephus, as the OG, avoids reference to an angel.

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These chapters seem to be placed within a theological context of divine warfare. There are various encounters between Yahweh and the Babylonian gods. Yahweh’s faithfulness and power are tested: will those who follow his dietary commands survive? Will he deliver those who preferred a furnace to disobedience? Will he be able to protect his servant from the mouths of the mighty lions? Yahweh’s wisdom is also tested: can he reveal hidden things which the Babylonian deities were not able to disclose? In all these skirmishes Yahweh emerges as the victorious deity. Yahweh is faithful to deliver his people from perilous circumstances. Yahweh is greater in power and wisdom than the Babylonian gods because he alone knows all the mysteries and he alone can place and depose kings. He knows events before they happen because he is the very one who ordains those events. He is indeed lord of history and as such worthy of all of earth’s inhabitants’ praise (Dan. 2.19–23, 27–8, 46–7; 4.34; 6.25–7). Lenglet reaches a similar conclusion in his study of Dan. 2–7. He views Dan. 4–5 as the centre of the concentric construction of chs. 2–7 that he proposes. He believes that Dan. 4–5 conveys the following message: ‘Nous pouvons donc considérer le document 3,31–4,34 et le récit 5,1–6,1 comme un tout indissoluble, savamment composé autour du thème: Dieu, Seigneur de l’historie, qui veut être reconnu comme tel par les princes de ce monde, car c’est lui qui leur donne et leur ôte le pouvoir.’55 The message conveyed, therefore, is that God is the sovereign one despite the momentary rule of foreign kings. What chs. 7–12 teach in the form of apocalyptic revelation, namely, God’s sovereign control over the ages, is taught in the form of stories in chs. 1–6.56 I now move to the speeches of outsiders, asking what purpose they serve in the framework of chs. 1–6. 3.2.1

The speeches (2.46–7; 3.95–6; 4.34; 6.25–7)

There are four speeches of outsiders in Dan. 1–6 spoken by Nebuchadnezzar and Darius. I offer the following main observation concerning these speeches. It should be noted that the content of the speeches is complementary to that recounted in the narrative. Thus, when in 2.47 Nebuchadnezzar

55 56

Lenglet, ‘La structure littéraire’, 187. Thus also Towner, ‘The Poetic Passages’, 324–5.

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calls Yahweh ‘god of gods and lord of kings, one who alone reveals hidden mysteries …’, he is simply recognising what the narrator has already said through the story itself and through Daniel’s doxology in 2.20–3. In 3.96, Nebuchadnezzar bases his international edict on the fact that ‘there is no other god who is able to rescue this way’. Again, the king is merely admitting what has already been described in the narrative in the deliverance of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. In 4.34, Nebuchadnezzar’s confession57 of God’s ability to perform wonders, change times and seasons, and remove and set up kings is already implicit in the narrative by the very action done to Nebuchadnezzar. Lastly, when Darius writes in 6.27 that he will ‘worship and serve him [God] all my days, for the idols made by hand cannot deliver as the God of Daniel redeemed Daniel’, he is once again recognising what the narrator has described Yahweh as having done by delivering Daniel from the lions. We may thus conclude by saying that the speeches of outsiders in Daniel are acknowledgements of Yahweh’s power, wisdom, and sovereignty as they have already been revealed to them through dreams or actual occurrences which are recorded in the narrative. In short, they all acknowledge the universal lordship of Daniel’s God. In this we may observe the function of these speeches. I have suggested that the message of the narratives (minus the speeches) in Dan. 1–6 is that the Jewish God is the sovereign one: he reveals the secrets of the future because he is the one who directs history, enthroning and dethroning kings as he wishes. By having foreign kings acknowledge this very thing, Daniel is suggesting that God is indeed sovereign. The very act of acknowledgement of Yahweh’s kingship demonstrates his sovereignty. Goldingay makes a similar point when speaking of Nebuchadnezzar’s speech in Dan. 2: ‘Daniel’s revelation had referred to a future assertion of God’s rule. Paradoxically, it actually effects a realization of God’s rule even now. Nebuchadnezzar acknowledges that God already rules, “on

57 The OG, assuming that its Vorlage is a manuscript(s) from the Hebrew Bible, embellishes the confession by having Nebuchadnezzar exclaim that Yahweh is the maker of heaven and earth and the seas and the rivers. In addition, Nebuchadnezzar pledges to serve God; he also claims that the heathen gods do not equal Yahweh in his power. In short, the OG envisions a conversion on the part of the king, a point much debated in future rabbinic disputes (see Matthias Henze, The Madness of King Nebuchadnezzar: The Ancient Near Eastern Origins and Early History of Interpretation of Daniel 4 [Leiden: Brill, 1999], pp. 114–27).

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earth as in heaven”.’58 The speeches thus exhibit a comedic mood, in the classical Greek sense of comedy as reversal of fortunes.59 In this case, the God and nation that apparently had been conquered end up being recognised as superior by those very conquerors. Thus, by having non-Jews of the calibre of Nebuchadnezzar and Darius acknowledging Yahweh’s superiority, the author has added dramatic shock to his narrative. This shock adds rhetorical power to the argument that Yahweh is sovereign: if even the foreign kings recognise his lordship, the conclusion is that he must truly be lord.60 The author of Daniel has thus used the speeches of outsiders to accent his own Jewish theological convictions. 3.2.2

Conclusion

The preceding pages have sought to investigate the function of the speeches of outsiders in the narrative portion of the book of Daniel. It was suggested that Dan. 1–6 is profitably read as a unity which forwards the following theme: the God of Daniel is the true sovereign God because he is superior to the Babylonian deities in wisdom, faithfulness, and might. We then moved to consider how the speeches of the foreign kings fit in this mosaic. I argued that the speeches were complementary to that which was being communicated in the different stories. The foreign speeches were affirming what Yahweh was believed to have been doing in the events surrounding Daniel and his companions. This was a rhetorical/theological strategy on the part of the author. It would have been one thing for a Jew to affirm Yahweh’s greatness – indeed supremacy – among other gods; this would be generally expected. However, for a foreign king of the stature of Nebuchadnezzar or Darius to make such an assertion would be shocking. It would represent in the here-and-now of the audience a subversion of the status quo, dramatically suggesting that Yahweh remained sovereign. In short, the act of confession of foreign kings in itself was proof that Yahweh was lord indeed.

Goldingay, Daniel, p. 61. Thus Edwin M. Good, ‘Apocalyptic as Comedy: The Book of Daniel’, Semeia 32 (1984): 41–70. However, he does not hold to any genetic relationship between this form of comedy and Daniel. He asserts: ‘Perhaps the comic mind the world over simply runs in certain kinds of channels’ (p. 48). 60 Good, ‘Apocalyptic as Comedy’, p. 42: ‘For the comic resolution to have maximum bite, the opposition must be a foe worthy of victory.’ 58 59

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3.3

First and Second Maccabees

There are many examples of recorded direct speech by non-Jews in these two books (see 1 Macc. 1.11; 2.17–18; 5.40–1; 6.22–7, 57–9; 7.6–7, 28, 35; 8.23–32; 9.58; 10.4–5, 16–20, 22–45, 51–6, 70–3; 11.9–10, 29–37, 42–3; 12.19–23; 2 Macc 9.19–27; 11.16–38; 14.6–10, 33; 15.3–5).61 Many of these speeches do not seem to play a significant role in the disclosure of the authors’ thought. Rather, they are short statements that serve to carry the plot along and provide variety to the authors’ presentation of the material. In this respect, especially in 1 Maccabees, the speeches are closer to the model of the Hebrew Bible than classical or Hellenistic historiography.62 There are, however, a number of speeches that do seem to be of particular significance for our understanding of the authors’ viewpoints. From this group, we shall focus our attention on the speeches of Antiochus IV (1 Macc. 6.10–13) and Heliodorus (2 Macc. 3.38–9). Prior to examining the speeches, it is necessary to sketch the salient points of the historiography underlying 1 and 2 Maccabees. One helpful way by which we can discern the historical distinctiveness of 1 and 2 Maccabees is by comparing them to other historiographic traditions. Elias Bickerman, in his seminal work on the Maccabees, has provided such a comparison by concentrating on the different interpretative traditions of Antiochus’ motivation for his persecution of the Jews.63 Bickerman detects three interpretations of Antiochus’ incentives. First, there is what he labels the Seleucid tradition, embedded, he believes, in Josephus and 2 Maccabees. This tradition provides a political explanation of the king’s actions. The interpretation is accomplished by giving a wrong date (according to Bickerman) of Antiochus’ plundering of the Jerusalem temple, that is, 61 Some of these speeches belong to renegade Jews, who, according to the authors of 1 and 2 Maccabees, are no better than the godless gentiles. See further above for my elaboration of this point. 62 Cf. Jonathan Goldstein, I Maccabees: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1976), pp. 21–2, on the book’s resemblance to the style of biblical narrative. 63 Elias Bickerman, The God of the Maccabees: Studies on the Meaning and Origin of the Maccabean Revolt, trans. Horst R. Moehring (Leiden: Brill, 1979). I use Bickerman’s work as a prism through which to view the different historiographic traditions describing Antiochus’ actions and not as providing a definite answer to this very complex issue. His own explanation (The God of the Maccabees, pp. 76–92) is that, at root, it was the Jewish Hellenizers, in an effort to ingratiate themselves to the outside world, who instigated Antiochus to commit the atrocities. Bickerman has been followed by Hengel, Judaism and Hellenism, pp. 277–309.

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168 BCE. Since it was on this date, according to the Seleucid tradition, that the Jews had rebelled by deserting to Ptolemaic rule, Antiochus’ temple desecration should be viewed as a political reprisal against rebellious subjects. It is a political response by the Seleucid king. Bickerman states: ‘According to this interpretation, then, the struggle came about on purely political grounds. Here, the persecution does not appear as a deliberate action against Jewish faith, but as a punitive measure against the rebels.’64 The second interpretation of Antiochus’ actions is the one Bickerman names Anti-Jewish. He finds this tradition in Diodorus Siculus 34.1.3–4, Josephus’ Contra Apionem 2.95, and Tacitus, Annals 5.8. According to this interpretation of the events, Antiochus attempted to destroy Jewry because of its barbaric beliefs, particularly its deep misanthropy. Antiochus is thus viewed not as an implacable monarch, but as a champion of civilisation.65 The third interpretation proposed by Bickerman is the Jewish version. This view is found in the books of Daniel and 1 and 2 Maccabees. If the first two interpretations made the Jews responsible for Antiochus’ actions, this one puts the blame at the feet of Antiochus and the Jewish renegades. The stress of this interpretation, particularly in 1 Maccabees, falls on the sinfulness of τὰ ἔθνα and those Jews who had adopted the manners of the gentiles.66 There is a strong ‘we’ and ‘they’ thought underlying this view.67 The Hasmoneans represent the ideal of Israel; indeed, they are the only 64 Bickerman, The God of the Maccabees, p. 12. See also Erich S. Gruen, ‘Hellenism and Persecution: Antiochus IV and the Jews’, in Hellenistic History and Culture, ed. Peter Green (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993), pp. 238–64. He concludes his explanation of the political theory by stating: ‘The motives that drove Antiochus were practical and political: cash for his military adventures and security for his position in Palestine’ (p. 253). 65 Bickerman, The God of the Maccabees, pp. 12–14. A related theory is proposed by Goldstein, 1 Maccabees, pp. 104–60, who suggests that Antiochus’ actions are best explained as his attempt to imitate Roman policy with respect to extension of citizenship and religious persecution (as in the Bacchanalian persecution). It is hypothesised that Antiochus learned this Roman policy from his period of exile in that city. This view is highly speculative, and has been characterised as ‘ingenious and alluring, but also fanciful and farfetched’ (Gruen, ‘Hellenism and Persecution’, p. 255). 66 Bickerman, however, overlooks the positive view of the Romans expressed in 1 Maccabees, particularly in the panegyric digression of 8.1–16. 67 On this point as developed in 1 Maccabees, see especially F.M. Abel, Les livres des Maccabées, 2nd edn (Paris: J. Gabalda, 1949), p. xxiii, ‘Ce nationalisme a sa racine dans la condition qu’Israël est le peuple choisi de Dieu. Aussi bien l’idée dominante de cette œuvre est l’opposition entre Israël et les Gentils (Goïm) et parmi ces derniers se rangent leurs affidés, les Juifs qui ont embrassé l’hellénisme …’ Cf. also Bickerman, The God of the Maccabees, pp. 14–16, 17–21.

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chosen ones to deliver the nation (e.g. 1 Macc. 5.62).68 In 2 Maccabees, the Jewish interpretation also brings in an element of theodicy. Although Antiochus and the apostate Jews are by no means exonerated (see 2 Macc. 1.11–17; 4.43–50; 7.17, 19), the author views the suffering of the Jewish nation ultimately as a result of the nation’s own sin. Their suffering, in other words, is justified because many of the Jews had rebelled against their God and this demanded his covenantal discipline. This is stated explicitly by the author in a passage in which he directly addresses his audience: Now I urge those who read this book not to be depressed by such calamities, but to recognize that these punishments were designed not to destroy but to discipline our people. In fact, it is a sign of great kindness not to let the impious alone for long, but to punish them immediately. For in the case of the other nations the Lord waits patiently to punish them until they have reached the full measure of their sins; but he does not deal in this way with us, in order that he may not take vengeance on us afterward when our sins have reached their height. Therefore he never withdraws his mercy from us. Although he disciplines us with calamities, he does not forsake his own people (2 Macc. 6.12–16). The author of 2 Maccabees thus explicitly (and in 1 Maccabees implicitly; but cf. 1.64) seizes one of the tenets of the so-called Deuteronomistic history in order to explain the persecution of his nation: when the people of God rebel, he disciplines them by unleashing a series of curses; when they repent, however, he lifts their suffering and blesses them. The question that follows for our purposes, then, is what place the persecutors occupied in this philosophy of history. Abel provides an answer while at the same time sketching the theological programme underpinning 2 Maccabees: La finalité des événements est la sanction divine: le châtiment des persécuteurs et des prévaricateurs proportionné quant au mode au genre de la faute; la correction du peuple élu par la moyen des ennemis, instruments inconscients de la justice de Dieu. Mais la pleine colère est réservée aux ennemis étrangers ou domestiques.69 See Goldstein, I Maccabees, pp. 6–12. Abel, Les livres des Maccabées, p. xxxiv (emphasis added). See also Bickerman, The God of the Maccabees, pp. 21–2. 68 69

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The type of historiography exhibited in 1 and 2 Maccabees is thus fundamentally Hebrew. Rather than seeking a primarily political cause (as in classical history) to explain the changing fortunes of the state, the authors appeal to religious and mainly moralistic categories: Antiochus and the rebel Jews attacked the state religion because they had been ‘contaminated’ with Hellenism; Antiochus, in his wickedness, wanted to unify all his subjects; Antiochus and the opposing gentiles were tools in the hand of God to discipline Israel for its sin, but they themselves would eventually be judged far more harshly than his chosen people.70 It is this last point, essential to Deuteronomistic history, which it is important to keep in mind as we examine the speeches of Antiochus and Heliodorus. 3.3.1

The speeches (1 Macc. 6.8–13; 2 Macc. 3.35–9)

I begin by exploring the speech of Antiochus. The majority of scholars examining this episode have focused primarily on determining the reliability of the material by means of comparison with other ancient texts. The question being asked is the following: is the account of Antiochus’ death in 1 Maccabees factual? David S. Williams, while not negating the importance (indeed, necessity) of these historical studies, has nevertheless lamented that the majority of commentators of 1 Maccabees have concentrated almost exclusively on historical and geographical questions to the neglect of the author’s literary artistry. The result, in his opinion, has been a loss in our grasp of the skill of the author and hence to a certain extent the theology distilled in the book.71 While I sympathise with Williams’ statement, I suggest that an appreciation of the author’s artistry and message can be more fully realised once a historical comparison has been done. However, while most scholars have compared the different accounts of Antiochus’ death in order to evaluate 1 Maccabees’ trustworthiness as a source of the events, I suggest that a comparison should also be made in order to appreciate the distinct techniques and ideology of the author. In other words, comparisons serve to answer not only matters of historicity, but also of historiography. My interest is in the latter. But cf. Bickerman, The God of the Maccabees, p. 22, who rightly concludes that 2 Maccabees also provides a (secondary) ‘pragmatic’ explanation for Antiochus’ actions. 71 David S. Williams, ‘Narrative Art in 1 Maccabees VI 1–17’, VT 49 (1999): 109–11; idem, The Structure of 1 Maccabees (Washington, DC: The Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1999), pp. 1–8. 70

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We are fortunate to possess more than one account of the death of Antiochus IV. In addition to 1 and 2 Maccabees, we find versions of his death in Polybius 31.9, Diodorus Siculus 31.18, Appian, Syr. 66, and Josephus, Ant. 12.354–9. Although these accounts differ from one another in several details,72 a stable outline of events can be gleaned from the documents. First, there is agreement in all the texts that near the time of his death Antiochus attempted to plunder the temple of Artemis in the city of Elymaïs. Secondly, all the sources except Appian state that Antiochus was foiled in his attempt to rob Artemis’ temple. Thirdly, excluding 1 and 2 Maccabees, all the accounts report that Antiochus died shortly after his temple affair as a result of possible divine chastisement for his sacrilegious actions.73 In this last aspect of the account Polybius, Diodorus (following Polybius), and Josephus all bring in a measure of detached objectivity by intruding in the narrative to say that the supernatural retribution interpretation is ‘as some people say’, ὡς ἐνοὶ φασι (Polybius). The narratives of 1 and 2 Maccabees, on the other hand, following the Hebrew biblical model, do not give different interpretations to explain the alleged supernatural event: there is only one normative interpretation, namely that which coheres with God’s revelation.74 Precisely by comparing these accounts do we perceive the two features that are unique to 1 Maccabees: the report of the Jewish success in Judea (6.1–7) and Antiochus’ deathbed speech.75 The two work in conjunction to accomplish the author’s main goal for including Antiochus’ speech in 1 Maccabees, namely, to give the verdict that the king’s death came as a result of his insolence toward the Jewish God.76 Three observations corroborate this line of thought. First, unlike all the other accounts, 1 Maccabees clearly states that the trigger for the king’s debility was the news of the triumphant Jewish revolt: καὶ ἐγένετο ὡς ἤκουσεν ὁ βασιλεὺς τοὺς λόγους τούτους κτλ For which see Maurice Holleaux, ‘La mort d’Antiochos IV Épiphanes’, Revue des études anciennes 18 (1916): 77–102. Among other things, Holleaux convincingly demonstrates that the accounts are not doublets of the death of Antiochus III. 73 Although Appian does not explicitly attribute the king’s death to supernatural discipline, the fact that in his version it immediately follows the temple robbery may imply that he does. 74 Cf. Alexander, ‘Marathon or Jericho’, pp. 110–14. 75 2 Maccabees, in contrast to 1 Maccabees, has Antiochus only uttering a short statement on his deathbed. As we shall see, the short statement summarises what Antiochus is said to have uttered in 1 Maccabees. 76 Josephus, Ant. 12.358–9, is also convinced that the king’s punishment came as a result of his desecration of the Jerusalem temple; however, it is clear from the form of his account that he is following 1 Maccabees. 72

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(6.8). By including this statement, the author attempts to fix the reader’s attention on Antiochus’ sacrilegious actions vis-à-vis the Jewish nation rather than on the pagan temple episode at Elymaïs. In other words, he leads his audience to believe that the king’s death was ultimately the responsibility of the Jewish God rather than a foreign deity.77 Secondly, a fraction of the speech is presented in the form of a monologue (6.11). This creates the impression that the king’s speech is an honest reflection arising from the depths of his conscience. Thirdly, Antiochus now openly confessed to his friends that his death comes as retribution for what he had done against God’s temple and God’s people: νῦν δὲ μιμνῄσκομαι τῶν κακῶν, ὧν ἐποίησα ἐν Ιερουσαλημ καὶ ἔλαβον πάντα τὰ σκεύη τὰ ἀργυρᾶ καὶ τὰ χρυσᾶ τὰ ἐν αὐτῇ καὶ ἐξαπέστειλα ἐξᾶραι τοὺς κατοικοῦντας Ἰουδα διὰ κενῆς. ἔγνων ὅτι χάριν τούτων εὗρέν με τὰ κακὰ ταῦτα (6.12–13a). That is to say, an enormous amount of grief, λύπη (6.4, 9, 13), has befallen him;78 however, this grief came as a result of his failed plans in both Elymaïs and especially Judea, a failure that 1 Maccabees strongly implies had been manufactured by none other than the Jewish God. Again, the author of Maccabees, working from his own religious convictions, interpreted the death of Antiochus as punishment meted out by the God of the Jews and not a pagan deity.79 In conclusion, my vision of the historiography/theology of the author of 1 Maccabees is augmented by comparing his account of the death of Antiochus with other texts. We can see that the king’s speech is a dramatic corroboration of one of the principal themes of 1 Maccabees: God’s retribution against those who – even with his permission – maltreat his people and temple. The implication is that humans, regardless of their power, are unable to escape God’s reprisal because of his superiority over them. This is the same conclusion reached by the author of 2 Maccabees in his account of the death of Antiochus. He has the despot reaching the following conclusion: ‘It is right to be subject to God; mortals should not think that they are equal to God’ (2 Macc. 9.12). By having a figure of the stature of 77 This interpretation assumes that the author of 1 Maccabees was not the originator of the account of Antiochus’ death, but rather operated with a source from which he included or omitted as it fitted his agenda. See Goldstein, 1 Maccabees, p. 307. 78 On ‘grief’ as a key motif in Antiochus’ death account, see Williams, The Structure of 1 Maccabees, p. 27. 79 Abel, Les livres des Maccabées, p. 111, ‘On voit comment un même fait est sujet à des interprétations subjectives différentes.’

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Antiochus uttering words which ascribe universal power to the Jewish God, the author of 1 Maccabees has added dramatic punch to his narrative. Note, in addition, that the figure of Antiochus resembles that of Nebuchadnezzar: both looted the Jerusalem temple (compare 1 Macc. 1.21–4 to 2 Kgs 25); both displayed great arrogance; both were humbled; both recognised the superior power of the Jewish God. The short speech of Heliodorus in 2 Maccabees is part of an extensive episode that recounts his attempt to enter the Jerusalem temple under the orders of Seleucus IV. The situation arose out of inter-Jewish quarrels between the high priest Onias and the captain of the temple (προστάτης τοῦ ἱεροῦ), Simon. The quarrel centred on ‘the administration of the city market’ (3.4). Although it is not clear what this phrase means, it has been suggested that it refers to the control of temple funds, in which case the struggle would have been related to Simon’s desire for further political power.80 Frustrated with his inability to overcome Onias in this matter, Simon approached the στρατηγός of Coele-Syria and Phoenicia (3.5). He reported that there was a vast sum of money hoarded at the Jerusalem temple which was not being used for the sacrifices. As Bickerman has noted, beginning with the Achaemenids, responsibility for the maintenance of the Jerusalem temple was taken over by the ruling state, a practice that was continued by the Macedonian, Ptolemaic, and Seleucid monarchs. These foreign states, in effect, subsidised the temple expenses (including the necessary victims for offerings), thus gaining control of its economy.81 Bickerman concludes, ‘Subventionné sur le budget des cultes, le sanctuaire de Jérusalem était lui aussi, nécessairement, sous le contrôle financier du pouvoir séculier, et c’est cette surveillance qui a rendu possible et presque inévitable l’intervention d’Héliodore.’82 In short, when Simon approached the governor of Coele-Syria, he suggested that a large amount of funds was not being used for the sacrifices but rather was being stockpiled. Since the Seleucid king had economic jurisdiction over the temple in the first place, the conclusion reached was that he should have seized this vast surplus.83 See Bartlett, The First and Second Book of the Maccabees (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1973), p. 236; John J. Collins, Daniel, First Maccabees, Second Maccabees (Wilmington, DE: Michael Glazier, 1981), p. 283. 81 Elias Bickerman, ‘Héliodore au temple de Jérusalem’, in Studies in Jewish and Christian History, Part Two (Leiden: Brill,1980), p. 160. 82 Bickerman, ‘Héliodore au temple’, p. 161. 83 As Bartlett, The First and Second Book of Maccabees, p. 236, proposes, Seleucus IV needed these funds to repay the fine levied by the Romans on his father, Antiochus III, at the treaty of Apamea. 80

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The king thus sent his chief minister Heliodorus to obtain the capital. Upon reaching Jerusalem, Onias explained to Heliodorus that the surplus belonged to the widows and orphans and to Hyrcanus’ son Tobias (3.9–11). Therefore, it would have been sacrilegious to plunder the deposits of those who trusted in the sanctity of the temple to guard their deposits (3.12).84 Ignoring this warning because of the pressure of the king’s command, Heliodorus entered the treasury (γαζοφυλάκιον). He was suddenly stopped, however, by the apparition of a magnificent horse being ridden by a frightening warrior. The horse struck Heliodorus with its hoofs. In addition, two angels appeared who flogged him incessantly. Falling unconscious, he was carried away by his bodyguards (3.23–8). At the request of Heliodorus’ companions and fearing misunderstanding from Seleucus IV, the high priest Onias interceded for Heliodorus’ recovery. While this was happening, the two angels once again appeared to Heliodorus. This time they commanded him to ‘report to all people the majestic power of God’ (3.34). Having recovered, Heliodorus offered a sacrifice to God and returned to the king, to whom the short speech under investigation was addressed (3.35–40). If we are to grasp the significance of Heliodorus’ speech in the narrative of 2 Maccabees, it is necessary to point out two motifs woven into 3.1–40: the power of the Jewish God and the sanctity of the Jerusalem temple. First, the author is at pains to show his readers that the God of the Jews was superior in power to all other deities. Different terms are used to highlight this aspect of God: παγκρατῆ (v. 22), δυνάστης, δύναμιν (vv. 24, 38), δυναστείαν (v. 28), παντοκράτορος (v. 30), and κράτος (v. 34). It is interesting to note that these terms were stated directly by the narrator (vv. 22, 24, 28, 30), by the two angels (v. 34), and by Heliodorus himself (v. 38). All these entities agreed that the Jewish deity was almighty. The second motif found in this episode is the sanctity of the temple. The narrator amplifies this in several ways: he stated that ‘the kings themselves honoured the place’ (v. 2); Onias spoke of those who had trusted in ‘the holiness of the place and in the sanctity and inviolability of the temple that is honoured throughout the whole world’ (v. 12); Heliodorus stated that the Jewish God ‘watches over that place himself and brings it aid, and he strikes and destroys those who come to do it injury’ 84 See Bickerman, ‘Héliodore au temple’, pp. 167–70, who states that the practice of depositing personal funds in temples, both Jewish and pagan, was done strictly because of the expected inviolability of the location since no capital interest could be gained.

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(v. 39). In this manner, the author has extolled the greatness of the Jerusalem temple. These two themes, so prevalent in 2 Maccabees,85 are fused in the speech of the non-Jew Heliodorus. When questioned by King Seleucus IV, Heliodorus defended himself by speaking of the impossibility of plundering the Jerusalem temple. In the process, however, he offered a brief encomium on the power of the Jewish God and the sanctity of the Jerusalem temple. He told the king: ‘If you have any enemy or plotter against your government, send him there, for you will get him back thoroughly flogged, if he survives at all; for there is certainly (ἀληθῶς) some power of God about the place’ (v. 38). It is almost certain that the author of 2 Maccabees did not contemplate the conversion of Heliodorus. Although he offered sacrifice (v. 35), this did not necessarily signal his conversion to Jewish monotheism. Josephus (Ant. 11.336) did not imagine a conversion when he spoke of Alexander the Great offering a sacrifice under the direction of the Jewish high priest. The confession of Heliodorus itself (vv. 38–9), although dramatic enough to be used by the author for his purposes, contains a certain ambiguity that would have made a monotheistic Jew uneasy. Heliodorus confessed in v. 38 that there is ‘some power of God about that place’. The phrase translates the expression διὰ τò περὶ τòν τόπον ἀληθῶς εἶναί τινα θεοῦ δύναμιν. The combination of θεός and δύναμις is indeed found in the Greek Bible (Hab. 3.19; Wis. 7.25; 2 Macc. 3.24); however, it never appears with the pronoun τις qualifying it. This anomaly may have caused the numerous textual variants on this phrase, two of which attempt to eliminate what must have seemed a residue of paganism in the speech of Heliodorus. In fact, as I have previously explained (see especially under the speeches of Nebuchadnezzar and Darius), there appears to have existed a topos in post-exilic Jewish literature where a pagan could extol the virtues of the Jewish God without at the same time embracing an exclusively monotheistic belief. Bickerman believes that this is apparent in the speech of Heliodorus: Dans ces récits il ne s’agit pas de conversions proprement dites. Les princes païens ne renoncent pas à l’idolâtrie. Pour Nabuchodonosor, témoin de tant des prodiges, le Dieu de Daniel n’est toujours qu’un dieu parmi les autres. Mais 85 On the importance of the temple in 2 Maccabees, see Robert Doran, Temple Propaganda: The Purpose and Character of 2 Maccabees (Washington, DC: Catholic Biblical Association, 1981).

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Nabuchodonosor, Antiochus ou Héliodore apprennent et annoncent la primauté de Dieu d’Israël ‘qui fait ce que lui plaît …’ Cette position est parfaitement conforme aux mœurs du polythéisme.86 The scenario is thus not a little ironic, since Heliodorus’ main motivation in his statement was to convince the king of his innocence. Furthermore, as a foreigner, he did not fully grasp the significance of his statements about the Jewish God and the Jerusalem temple. Nevertheless, in the hands of the author, his statements become a dramatic attestation of what the author himself believes, namely, the uniqueness of the Jewish God and his temple in Jerusalem. This is dramatic because it is no less than an outsider of high rank who praises God and the temple.87 In short, the foreigner Heliodorus has become the mouthpiece of the author himself: ‘Heliodorus’ remarks about the divine protection of the temple certainly express the viewpoint of the author of 2 Maccabees …’88 3.3.2

Conclusion

1 and 2 Maccabees have preserved several speeches of characters who are not ostensibly aligned with the theology of the authors and hence can be called outsiders. I chose to investigate two of these, the speeches of Antiochus IV and Heliodorus. In order to grasp the significance of the speech of Antiochus, I argued that it was necessary to be aware of the operative historiography of the authors of 1 and 2 Maccabees. I concluded that their philosophy of history was fundamentally Hebrew. In such historiography, the divine viewpoint towers over any ‘rational’ or pragmatic interpretation of events. One of the planks of this historiography is Deuteronomistic history, part of which involves the use of foreign human instruments to discipline God’s people when they rebel. However, the instruments themselves would eventually be chastised far more severely than God’s chosen nation. Antiochus, who is surely not abreast of Deuteronomistic history,89 expresses this fundamental viewpoint of the authors when Bickerman, ‘Hélidore au temple’, p. 184. See also Doran, Temple Propaganda, p. 51: ‘The dialogue at 2 Macc 3:37–39 is a comic foil to re-emphasize the events of the epiphany and once again proclaim the sovereignty of the God of Israel.’ 88 Bartlett, The First and Second Books of the Maccabees, pp. 241–2. 89 To be sure, the ancients were obsessed with the concept of divine retribution, and so Antiochus’ statements are not at all unique. However, as I explained under the 86 87

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he concludes in his last living moments that his death was the result of vengeance by the Jewish deity. Heliodorus enters the Jerusalem temple only to be stopped and whipped by divine agents. As a result, he returns to King Seleucus IV and delivers a brief eulogy of the Jewish God and his temple. His primary intention is not to praise God or his temple, rather, he seeks to defend himself by recounting his humiliating experience. By doing this, however, he unwittingly manages to express two pillars of the theology of the author of 2 Maccabees: the supremacy of the Jewish God and the greatness of his temple. To conclude, the speeches of outsiders in 1 and 2 Maccabees serve the function of advancing the theological viewpoints of the authors. The fact that outsiders, and influential ones at that, are expressing – without intending to do so – the authorial perspective, imbues the narrative with a tremendous amount of the dramatic. This, in turn, reinforces one of the cardinal persuasions of the Jewish faith, namely, the belief that their God was firmly superintending the affairs of his people. 3.4

Third Maccabees

This book is dramatically set during the reign of Ptolemy IV Philopator (ca 244–205 BCE). It tells the story of a significant persecution against the Jews of Philopator’s kingdom, culminating in an even more remarkable deliverance by the Jewish God. After Philopator’s important victory at Raphia (1.1–5), he visited several shrines in the vicinity. Arriving at Jerusalem, he was awed by the appearance of its temple and was seized by a strong desire to enter the Holy of Holies. The Jews attempted to dissuade him from this sacrilegious action, but to no avail. Only the Jewish deity was able to convince him: Philopator was smitten with temporary paralysis, falling impotent to the ground before he could enter the most sacred place (2.21–3). This divine repulsion aroused the anger and arrogance of the king. Indeed, Philopator unleashed a religious persecution of the Jews, culminating in their deportation and imprisonment in the hippodrome on the outskirts of Alexandria. The deportation and arrest, however, were just precursors to the king’s ultimate aim: the extermination of the Jews of his kingdom in a Speech section, although he had attempted to rob a temple of Artemis, the Antiochus of 1 Maccabees views his calamity as stemming exclusively from his crimes against the Jewish God.

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single day (2.27–4.21). To that end, he summoned a certain Hermon, who was in charge of the elephants. The king ordered him to drug the beasts with frankincense and wine on the following day so that they would be in an uncontrollable state when they trampled on the Jews (5.1–5). The Jews implored their God to deliver them; this he did twice, once by keeping the king in a deep sleep on the morning of the massacre (5.11–12), and the second time by inflicting on him a temporary bout of amnesia, forcing him to forget all his anger towards the Jews (5.21–35). Philopator made a third attempt. On this occasion the elephants did reach the hippodrome and were about to trample the Jews. However, unbeknown to the king, the pious priest Eleazar had fervently entreated his God to deliver his people. God sent two terrible angels – invisible to the Jews but visible to everyone else – who made havoc among the persecutors, causing the elephants to trample them instead. The king, humbled at last, commanded the release of the Jews: ‘Release the sons of the allconquering, living God of heaven, who from the times of our ancestors until now has conferred upon our estate an impregnable stability with glory’ (6.28). The statement symbolises the resolution of the conflict. After a lavish celebration, the Jews were allowed to return to their respective lands. There they recovered their previously confiscated possessions and executed those who had apostatised in view of Philopator’s persecution. The author concludes in a triumphal note: ‘The great God had perfectly accomplished great things for their salvation. Blessed be the deliverer of Israel forever and ever! Amen’ (7.23). It is generally acknowledged that 3 Maccabees is not a historical work in the sense that its genre is not that of history. Instead, it is an entertaining and edificatory tale laced with possible historical reminiscences.90 Consequently, it has been labelled a ‘historical romance’.91 As with most novels, however, it is agreed that it reflects some historical

90 Thus H. Anderson, ‘3 Maccabees’, in OTP, Vol. 2, p. 510; Erich S. Gruen, Diaspora: Jews amidst Greeks and Romans (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2002), p. 70; Moses Hadas, The Third and Fourth Books of Maccabees (New York: Harper 1953), pp. 13–16. 91 Thus Anderson, ‘3 Maccabees’, p. 510: ‘it bears some resemblance to the Greek “romances” which flourished in the hellenistic period. Only a few of these, like the Chereas and Callirhoe of Chariton, have survived, but 3 Maccabees shares enough features in common with them to suggest that its writer was acquainted with this type of literary model …’ See also Hadas, Maccabees, pp. 13–16, who adds, without much elaboration, that it is an aetiological history.

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events.92 There is nevertheless disagreement with respect to the period of Ptolemaic rule to which it refers.93 Concentrating on the central event of the book, namely, Jewish persecution and attempted execution at the hippodrome near Alexandria, most scholars have proposed two separate periods. On the one hand, there are those who point to the book’s close resemblance to Josephus, Ag. Ap. 2.53–6, where a similar maltreatment of the Jews is recounted: as in 3 Maccabees, there are elephants who are prepared to trample the Jews but who end up falling on the pursuers; there is an apparition which persuades the Ptolemaic king to relinquish his persecution of the Jews; and there is the statement that the deliverance resulted in the institution of a Jewish feast. The event narrated by Josephus, however, is said to have taken place during the reign of Ptolemy Physcon, approximately one century after the reign of Philopator. As a result – and because they are convinced that Josephus is a more reliable historical source – some scholars have suggested that the author of 3 Maccabees had transposed the events retold in his work to an earlier period.94 On the other hand, there are those who believe that the events narrated in the book point plausibly to its dramatic date, that is, to Ptolemy Philopator’s reign. They base their view, among other considerations, on the fact that Philopator’s volatile character as well as his attraction to the cult of Dionysius is skilfully reflected in 3 Maccabees.95 Modrzejewski concludes by proposing the following reconstruction: 92 Cf. Elias Bickerman, ‘Makkabaerbücher (III)’, PW 14: 799: ‘Das Buch ist gewiss ein “Roman”, will aber als Geschichte gelten, verwertet darum guten historische Quellen.’ 93 To be sure, a minority of scholars has argued that a Roman period is most amenable to the date of composition. In particular, V. Tcherikover, ‘The Third Book of Maccabees as a Historical Source of Augustus’ Time’, Scripta Hierosolymitana 7 (1961): 1–25, on the basis of the term λαογραφία, has argued strongly for a Roman date. He has been followed by André Paul, ‘Le troisième livre des Macchabées’, in ANRW 2.20.1, p. 333, n. 122. As Sara Raup Johnson, Historical Fictions and Hellenistic Jewish Identity: Third Maccabees in its Cultural Context (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2004), pp. 132–6, has demonstrated, however, such a date is implausible. 94 See C.W. Emmet, ‘The Third Book of Maccabees’, in APOT, p. 160: ‘It would seem, then, that the writer of 3 Maccabees has combined the Physcon and Philopator stories, transferring the former to the earlier reign. There was an obvious advantage in doing so, since in the original narrative as preserved by Josephus the position of the Jews was a little ambiguous.’ He is followed, among others, by Bickerman, ‘Makkabaerbücher (III)’, p. 800. 95 See especially J.M. Modrzejewski, The Jews of Egypt from Rameses II to Emperor Hadrian, trans. Robert Cornman (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1995), pp. 146–7, 152–3; Aryeh Kasher, The Jews in Hellenistic and Roman Egypt: The Struggle for Equal Rights (Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr, 1985), pp. 211–32.

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Philopator had decided to treat the Jews as a Dionysiac sect, upon whose members the rulings set out in his decree were applicable. The stubborn resistance of the Jews almost succeeded in bringing about a tragedy, which was averted in the nick of time. Legendary embroidery accounted for all the fanciful dressing, and the author of the novel drew the theological lessons necessary for the moral edification of the coreligionists.96 One of the reasons why it is important to identify whether or not there is a historical kernel behind 3 Maccabees is the role that this plays in our discernment of the book’s purpose. If the period under the Ptolemies was for the Jews one of absolute peace from state persecution, then it is not at all meaningful to speak of a book being written in order to edify the readers by reminding them of a previous persecution and divine deliverance: even the most transparent fictions must latch on to some historical realia if they are to teach the audience some sort of lesson. In fact, it is naïve to think that Jewish life under Ptolemaic rule was insulated from the occasional skirmish that had attended Jewish faith throughout its history, whether the harassment was state-sanctioned or not. Reading between the lines of Philo’s Embassy to Gaius, it is apparent (notwithstanding Philo’s exaggerations) that there existed a long-standing rivalry between the Jews and their neighbours (at least in Alexandria) which stemmed from before the Roman period.97 This is in part to be explained by the exclusivity of the Jewish religion. Erich Gruen, who on the whole is sceptical of reliable historical remembrances in 3 Maccabees, nevertheless acknowledges: ‘Perhaps some set of circumstances prompted official action against Jews in the reign of Philopator or Physcon, thereby stimulating a later legend.’98 I would thus concur with those scholars who view 3 Maccabees as a historical novel, referring to the Ptolemaic period, of which the purpose was to encourage and edify the faith of Jews, either in the Diaspora or in Palestine. The author does this by giving a portrait of

Modrzejewski, The Jews of Egypt, p. 151. See in particular Leg. 120, 128–9, 162–6. Gruen, Diaspora, p. 70. Similarly, Modrzejewski, The Jews of Egypt, p. 153, indicates that, while it would be wrong to speak of either Philopator or Physcon as originators of anti-Semitism in Egypt, nevertheless the actions of one or the other must have alarmed the Jewish community: ‘The Jews of Egypt had discovered that life in the service of a Ptolemaic king was not always a bed of roses.’ 96 97 98

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the Jewish God as one who is able to overcome any scheme against his people. As such, the book provides an encomium for the Jewish God. In fact, the book ends with a statement of blessing towards God: ‘Blessed be the deliverer of Israel forever and ever!’ (7.23). Moreover, it is a document for insiders, meant to bolster faith in the traditional construct of Jewish religion.99 This hypothesis is borne out in the narrative in several places. For example, after describing the failed census due to the incalculable number of Jews (4.14–20), the narrator intrudes to give his own explanation of the event: ‘But this was the working out of the invincible providence (προνοίας) of the one who helps the Jews from heaven’ (4.21). In recounting the second deliverance of the Jews (caused by the king’s amnesia), the narrator again intrudes: ‘But this was the working of the God who governs all things who had implanted in his mind forgetfulness of his previous schemes’ (5.28). Pious Eleazar’s prayer ends in the following way: ‘Let it be made clear to all the nations that you are with us, Lord, and have not turned your face away from us, but even as you have said, “Not even when they were in the land of their enemies have I neglected them,” so bring it to pass, Lord’ (6.15). When recalling the festival that was to be a commemoration of this event, the narrator makes the following clarification concerning the purpose of the memorial, ‘not for the sake of drinking and gluttony but of the deliverance that had come to them through God’ (6.36). Lastly, I have already mentioned the final verse of the book, which serves as a ‘punch line’ for the entire work: ‘The great God had perfectly accomplished great things for their salvation’ (7.22). Thus, the primary purpose of 3 Maccabees is to remind the Jews of the Second Temple of God’s previous deliverance in order to bolster their faith. A subsidiary purpose may very well have been the composition of a festival legend. In view of the purpose of 3 Maccabees, we may now turn to one of the speeches of an outsider in order to explore its function in the book.

99 See Hadas, Maccabees, pp. 13, 23. Emmet, ‘The Third Book of Maccabees’, pp. 158, 162, and Anderson, ‘3 Maccabees’, p. 512, believe that the book is aimed at both insiders and outsiders. See David S. Williams’ rebuttal of the view that outsiders are also in mind (‘3 Maccabees: A Defense of Diaspora Judaism?’, JSP 13 [1995]: 18–19). Williams’ own proposal, namely, that the author is attempting to convince Palestinian Jews that God’s providence also extends to the Jews of the Diaspora, rests on the questionable assumption that 3 Maccabees was addressed to Palestinian Jews. In addition, it rests on numerous arguments ex silentio (see especially pp. 25, 27).

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The speech of Philopator

As in previous examples of speeches by non-Jews (e.g. Ezra and Daniel), the speech is contained in an official letter. I offer the following two observations from this speech. First, even a surface reading of the speech shows that some of the concepts expressed by Philopator are similar to what the narrator himself has previously said. For example, the father–children metaphor of 7.6 (‘in alliance with them continually like a father with his children’) is found in two other places in the book. In 5.7 the author describes the traits of the God to whom the desperate Jews prayed in the following way: ‘their Lord, the all-conquering who governs with all power, the merciful God and father …’ In his prayer, the priest Eleazar also used similar language: ‘look upon the seed of Abraham, upon the children of Jacob whom you inherited’ (6.3). A second convergence of the implied author’s thought with Philopator’s speech is found in 7.9: ‘Be sure of this, that if we devise any evil scheme against them or cause them any trouble, we shall have not man but the most high God … to exact vengeance.’ What the king states here is precisely what the author has already demonstrated through the vehicle of narrative. We can thus conclude that the speech of Philopator is used as a dramatic confirmation of the thought of the author. Secondly, it is important to note that the speech, in itself, serves as a symbol of one of the thoughts endemic to the book, namely, God’s ability to reverse the fortunes of his people from oppressed to victorious – and by extension of those who have caused the oppression. In other words, the very fact that the king offers a speech acknowledging the supremacy of the Jewish God is iconic of the message being conveyed by the author: because God is supreme, he is able to deliver his people when they are oppressed and at the same time humble those who oppress them. In this respect, it is noteworthy that the author has used the adjective ‘arrogant’ numerous times to describe the king.100 By the time we reach his written speech, however, the king’s arrogance has been shattered; instead, he is humbly acknowledging the pre-eminence of the Jewish God and the special position of his people. The speech of the king therefore partly becomes an encomium for the Jewish God and his people. 100 The main term used is θρασύς. It is found in 2.2, 4, 6, 14, 21; 6.4, 5. In 2.6, 6.4 and 6.5 it is used to describe the arrogant attitudes of Pharaoh and Sennacherib, archetypal hubristic figures in Jewish literature.

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3.4.2

Conclusion

Third Maccabees is a historical novel that describes the persecution and supernatural liberation of the Jews during the time of Ptolemy IV Philopator. The work is encomiastic of the Jews’ most sacred possessions (such as the temple), but primarily of their deity. Since, as the story has dramatically demonstrated, no feat is insurmountable for their God, the Jews may take comfort in the thought that God delivers from persecution those who are faithful to him. The written speech of Philopator is one of the many voices in the narrative that validates the reality described above; and since it is no less than the Ptolemaic king who is corroborating this, the speech serves as the symbolic apex of God’s ability to rescue his people. The inclusion of Philopator’s speech, therefore, is a literary technique which has an ultimate theological aim. The speech is a channel for expressing the implied author’s view (literary), thereby making a theological point concerning the uniqueness of the Jewish God and his chosen people (theological). The function of the speech of the outsider Philopator is thus identical to the function of the speeches of Nebuchadnezzar, Darius, Antiochus IV, and Heliodorus. All these speeches served to articulate the Jewish theological thoughts which the narrator had distilled in other parts of the narrative; but who made the speech is as important as what was said in the speech. The fact that kings or high functionaries were the ones uttering encomiastic statements about the Jewish God and his people made a theological and historiographic statement: God rules even over those who erroneously believe themselves to be in charge of the affairs of history. 3.5

Judith

The book begins by relating how Nebuchadnezzar (who in the book of Judith is the king of the Assyrians) won a decisive victory over the Mede king Arphaxad. This victory was partly made possible by the addition to his army of the people who lived east of the Euphrates. Although Nebuchadnezzar had summoned the inhabitants of many other nations (e.g. Persia, Egypt, Ethiopia, and Palestine among others) to join him in his attack against the Medes, they had refused because they considered him a mere man (1.11). Consequently, after his victory over Arphaxad, he embarked on a vindictive campaign against those who had previously refused him. He purposed to

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destroy and take captive the people who had rejected him, swearing by his own name that he would accomplish this: ‘For as I live, and by the power of my kingdom, what I have spoken I will accomplish by my own hand’ (2.12). Judea was part of the rebellious group which Nebuchadnezzar swore to destroy. Nebuchadnezzar thus sent his chief general (ἀρχιστράτηγον) Holofernes, second only to himself, with a great army to carry out this vicious campaign. Holofernes was triumphant wherever he went: he plundered temples, destroyed lands, and took captives. Some of the people who lived on the coast of Palestine had surrendered, hoping in this way to avert destruction. Nevertheless, Holofernes still carried out his plundering, particularly of their temples, for ‘he had been commissioned to destroy all the gods of the land, so that all nations would worship Nebuchadnezzar alone, and that all their dialects and tribes should call upon him as a god’ (3.8). At last he reached the borders of Judea, encamping with his army near the small village of Bethulia. After gallantly resisting a siege for over thirty days, the Israelites’ courage faltered significantly, due in particular to a shortage of water. The people thus approached one of the leading men of the town, Uzziah of the tribe of Simeon, and demanded that he surrender to Holofernes. Uzziah made a truce with the people, stipulating that if God had not intervened within five days, they would indeed surrender. At this point Judith is introduced. This remarkable woman, who combined great bloodlines (8.1), pious behaviour (8.4–6), extraordinary beauty (8.7a), and wealth (8.7b), vigorously exhorted the elders of the town, rebuking them for their faithless and manipulative stance toward God. She herself, with God’s help, would bring deliverance to Israel. By a combination of beauty, charm, deception, and cunning, Judith was able to infiltrate the enemy’s camp, getting close to Holofernes himself. On the fourth day of her infiltration, Holofernes held a great banquet to which he invited Judith with the goal of having intercourse with her. However, after excessive drinking, he fell asleep in the tent. With all the guests out of the tent except for her own servant, Judith took Holofernes’ sword and with two strokes cut off his head. She put his head in a food bag and returned to Bethulia. The following day, upon realising that Holofernes had been killed, the Assyrian camp went into a panic and fled. Many were killed by the Israelites, who also plundered the Assyrian camp. Thus, through the brave actions of Judith, God delivered Israel from a fierce enemy. The book closes with the Israelites praising God and Judith for their deliverance.

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The current consensus regarding the genre of the book of Judith is that it is fiction; further precision has, however, proved elusive. Carey A. Moore summarises three major categories, within the designation of fiction, which have been put forward as a possible genre in the last century: (1) novel, (2) folktale, and (3) apocalypse.101 Moore himself has argued cogently against the apocalyptic genre.102 Of the other two suggestions, the designation of Judith as a Jewish Hellenistic novel seems to be the closest that one can get to a strict genre.103 Helmut Engel’s descriptive phrase, although not strictly speaking a genre, succinctly captures what Judith is about: ‘[eine] romanhafte Lehrerzählung’.104 The book of Judith yields a neat structure that can be divided into two parts: section 1 (chs. 1–7), with its focus on the character of Nebuchadnezzar, and section 2 (chs. 8–16), with its focus on the character of Judith.105 The activities of these two characters, however, are ultimately windows through which to view the place of God in history, particularly that of his people Israel. Thus, although not as neat as Craven’s outline, Engel’s suggested structure reflects more clearly the focus of the book: (1) ‘Nabuchodonosors Macht und Anspruch’ (chs. 1–3); (2) ‘Macht als Gottesbeweis: Wer ist Gott, Nabuchodonosor oder der HERR?’ (chs. 4–7); (3) ‘Der HERR allein ist Gott: Er zerschlägt die Kriege, Er rettet Israel durch die Hand einer gottesfürchtigen Frau’ (chs. 8–16).106 As with other narratives of the Second Temple period, therefore, the book of Judith attempts 101 Carey A. Moore, Judith: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1985), pp. 71–5. 102 Ibid., pp. 75–6. 103 Thus Lawrence M. Wills, The Jewish Novel in the Ancient World (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1995). The labelling of Judith with this genre, however, is not without problems. Recently, Sara Johnson, Historical Fictions and Hellenistic Jewish Identity, pp. 33–4, has noted correctly that the Hellenistic novel has a romantic feature between a hero and a heroine at the centre of its plot (which of course is lacking in Judith). Furthermore, argues Johnson, in the Hellenistic novels history is brought in solely for the sake of entertainment, whereas in the Jewish romances ‘the historical setting is very much the point’ (p. 33). Although this last opinion is somewhat overstated (the point in many Jewish fictions of the Second Temple is rather God’s supremacy and his special relationship with the Jews, a point which is amplified by a particular historical backdrop), Johnson has identified a weakness in calling Judith a Hellenistic (Jewish) novel. 104 Helmut Engel, ‘Das Buch Judit’, in Einleitung in das Alte Testament, ed. Erich Zenger (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer,1995), p. 198. 105 Thus Toni Craven, Artistry and Faith in the Book of Judith (Chico, CA: Scholars Press,1983), pp. 47–64. 106 Engel, ‘Das Buch Judit’, p. 193. See also the very similar structure proposed by Erich Zenger, ‘Das Buch Judit’, in Historische und legendische Erzählungen, ed. Werner Georg Kümmel et al. (Gütersloh: Gerd Mohn, 1981), pp. 432–3.

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to present the international supremacy of the Jewish God. In this respect, the book’s glaring chronological and geographical difficulties may not be a reflection of embarrassing incompetence on the part of the author; rather, the ‘blunders’ themselves (apart from signalling the book’s fictional orientation) may be part of a tactic to get across the author’s point of view. Benedikt Otzen states: If we take a general view of the historical and geographical problems of the book of Judith we can observe that they have a common trait: both history and geography have, so to speak, been inflated or distended; history in the category of time, and geography in the category of space. This is done intentionally; history becomes universal history, and geography becomes total geography covering, more or less, the whole of the then-known world. By this artifice the book of Judith obtains a cosmic dimension, and the conflicts in the book are raised to a level where they represent the eternal struggle between God and Evil. History and geography are taken into the service of ideology!107 The end of the narrative leaves no doubt as to who is victorious in this cosmic struggle: it is the Jewish God, through the woman Judith, who conquers the adversaries of his people.108 We now move to examine how, in this narratival/theological scheme, the speech of the Ammonite Achior functions. 107 Benedikt Otzen, Tobit and Judith (London: Sheffield Academic Press, 2002), p. 90. Otzen builds on the works of Ernst Haag, Studien zum Buche Judit: Seine theologische Bedeutung und literarische Eigenart (Trier: Paulinus-Verlag, 1963); and George Nickelsburg, Jewish Literature between the Bible and the Mishna (London: SCM Press, 1981), p. 107. 108 Locating the precise role of Judith in the narrative can be challenging. On the one hand, she appears to be simply the instrument in God’s deliverance. On the other hand, she receives so much praise (e.g. 13.18; 14.7; 15.8–10; 16.6, 21–5), that one wonders whether the book is a eulogy of Judith. These two orientations, however, are not mutually exclusive. In fact, I would argue that precisely by having a woman (who could be considered weaker in the context of warfare, cf. Judg. 9.52–4) as the means of deliverance, the author wants greater praise to redound to the Jewish God, thus reaffirming the main theme of the book, namely, God’s supremacy in history and his special care for Israel. As such, I would question Nickelsburg’s conclusion that the book of Judith is ‘striking for its feminism’ (Jewish Literature, p. 108). Depending on how one defines feminism, quite the opposite could be the case. See the insightful essay by Pamela J. Milne, ‘What Shall we Do with Judith? A Feminist Reassessment of a Biblical “Heroine”’, Semeia 62 (1993): 37–58. She concludes, p. 54: ‘Moreover, as a “helper” … the Judith character effectively reinforces the patriarchal ideology that women are inferior and secondary by repeatedly making self-effacing, even self-denigrating, statements’.

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3.5.1

The speech (5.17–21)

It should be observed, firstly, that the speech of Achior comes as a response to a series of questions by General Holofernes. After noting that the Israelites were the only ones who refused to negotiate with him, Holofernes voiced the following queries in 5.3–4, Tell me, you Canaanites, what people is this that lives in the hill country? What towns do they inhabit? How large is their army, and in what does their power and strength consist? Who rules over them as king and leads their army? And why have they alone, of all who live in the west, refused to come out and meet me? It is evident at once that the nature of the questions being asked is an ideal conduit to allow the implied author to express his opinions about two important matters: the people of Israel (‘What people is this that lives in the hill country? Why have they alone, of all who live in the west, refused to come out and meet me?’), and their God (‘In what does their power and strength consist? Who rules over them as king and leads their army?’). The author has cleverly put these words into the mouth of Holofernes so that he (the author) might provide his own response.109 What is remarkable is that it is an Ammonite, archenemy of the people of God (cf. Deut. 23.3; Jer. 49.1–6; Ezek. 25.1–7), who will provide the answer. This leads to my second observation regarding the speech of Achior. Achior’s speech, in fact, serves to voice the Jewish theological viewpoint of the implied author. His summarised recounting of Israel’s metanarrative (5.6–19) fits in broad outline with the biblical tradition.110 Furthermore, his concluding counsel to Holofernes (5.20) is steeped in Deuteronomistic historiography: So now, my master and lord, if there is any oversight in this people and they sin against their God and we find out their 109 See also Moore, Judith, p. 59. With respect to the important question of power, Zenger, ‘Das Buch Judit’, p. 471, n. 3, remarks: ‘Diese Frage ist das zutiefst leitende Erkenntnisinteresse der ganzen Judit-Erzählung …’ Similarly Morton S. Enslin and Solomon Zeitlin, The Book of Judith: Greek Text with an English Translation, Commentary and Critical Notes (Leiden: Brill,1972), p. 85: ‘WHEREIN IS THEIR POWER AND THEIR STRENGTH: this word put in Nabouchodonosor’s mouth instead of the more natural “What is their power,” that is, “How much of an army can they put in the field against me?” is distinctly Jewish. It is Y’’, not men or weapons, who is the source of their power and strength.’ 110 So also Moore, Judith, pp. 161–2.

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offense, then we can go up and defeat them. But if they are not a guilty nation, then let my lord pass them by; for their Lord and God will defend them, and we shall become the laughingstock of the whole world. The author of the book of Judith undoubtedly subscribes to this theology. Judith (the human protagonist and thus a reliable voice of the author), it is true, expresses some reservation towards viewing the fate of Israel exclusively through the grid of Deuteronomistic retribution (e.g. 8.17). Nevertheless, A. M. Dubarle goes too far when he states: La détresse qui menace le peuple de Dieu n’est pas, d’après les paroles de Judith (8, 18–27), un châtiment de ses péchés, mais une épreuve et une leçon. Le livre ne s’attache donc pas à la pensée la plus fréquente dans les livres historiques, à savoir que les calamités nationales sont la peine de l’infidélité religieuse.111 In fact, after her apparent break with Deuteronomistic history, she comes back in 8.18–20 to make the following statement: For never in our generation, nor in these present days, has there been any tribe or family or people or town of ours that worships gods made with hands, as was done in days gone by. That was why our ancestors were handed over to the sword and to pillage, and they suffered a great catastrophe before our enemies. But we know no other god but him, and so (ὃθεν) we hope that he will not disdain us or any of our nation (emphasis added). Judith would thus be saying that victory is more or less assured since the nation was currently faithful to God’s commands. It is thus inaccurate to conclude that the author of Judith eschews Deuteronomistic history. It is better to say that, while this viewpoint forms the foundation of his thought, he is willing to accept other peripheral explanations for the suffering of the people, such as being tested by God. The speech of Judith, furthermore, is a reaction to the attempt to domesticate the Jewish God by giving him a five-day deadline to act (7.29–30), an action which was nothing less than testing him. Judith, in effect, reverses the subject and object of testing: 111 A.M. Dubarle, Judith: Formes et sens des diverses traditions. Vol. 1. Études (Rome: Institut Biblique Pontifical, 1966), p. 164.

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‘God can test you’, she replies, ‘but you cannot test him’. The speech of Achior, on the other hand, replies to the question of the Jews’ source of power vis-à-vis their enemies. Moore thus also concludes, ‘[Achior’s] survey of Jewish history in chap. 5 was a means whereby the author could express his own theology’.112 But why is Achior the Ammonite chosen to deliver this speech? Surely the author could have put these words in the mouth of a Jewish character; or he could have himself intruded into the narrative to pronounce his view. The use of the non-Jew Achior to voice the author’s point of view demands an explanation. Adolfo D. Roitman has attempted to answer this question. He made a detailed comparison of the characters of Achior and Judith, concluding that they share some remarkable similarities. He stated, concerning Achior, ‘He is designed thematically as well as functionally as the mirror image of Judith, being a kind of double or “alter ego.” In some way, the Ammonite leader is the masculine/pagan version of the feminine/Jewish Judith.’113 Roitman went a step further by positing that the resemblance was more than just literary arrangement; it was meant to convey a particular message to the readers regarding proselytism: The author wanted, presumably, to teach us through this very sophisticated technique that a righteous pagan, even one who belongs to the hateful people of Ammon, is, essentially, the parallel and complement to a complete Jew by birth, and that he is able to perfect his condition by believing in God and joining the people of Israel through conversion. However, it must be taken into account that this stance is not, as it has been argued, ‘presque évangélique,’ but has a nationalistic undertone. His conversion is meant to prove the main thesis of the book: the superiority of the Jews and their beliefs over the world of the pagans.114 Although Roitman’s thesis has some weaknesses,115 the overall thrust is persuasive. I would thus argue that what is true of the character of Moore, Judith, p. 59. Alfonso D. Roitman, ‘Achior in the Book of Judith: His Role and Significance’, in ‘No One Spoke Ill of Her’: Essays on Judith, ed. James C. VanderKam (Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press, 1992), p. 38. 114 Ibid. 115 For example, can Achior really be called a ‘righteous pagan’? His refusal to attack the Israelites was not due to a positive inclination towards Israel; rather, he was 112 113

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Achior in general is also true with respect to his speech. In other words, the speech of Achior is used to voice the implied author’s Jewish point of view. It is parabolic, attempting to persuade the readers of God’s sovereignty by pointing to the fact that even an outsider116 accepts the supremacy of the Jewish God as well as his care for his people. 3.5.2

Conclusion

The book of Judith is a novel-like, fictional work that, by virtue of manipulation of historical characters, geography, and time, presents an international struggle between Nebuchadnezzar and the Jewish God. The author frames this duel by presenting Nebuchadnezzar as one who has god-like aspirations, particularly in his ambition to conquer the whole world, including the people of God, Israel. God is able to deliver his people by an unexpected instrument and through unexpected tactics: the widow Judith and her tactics of deception and charm. The book thus showcases the superiority of the Jewish God, a superiority which is made more dramatic and persuasive precisely by showing how what was considered to be a weaker (militarily) vessel, namely a woman, could be the means to defeat the powerful Nebuchadnezzar. The speech of Achior is central to this motif. The speech is an example of a literary technique whereby the implied author uses the lips of an outsider (in this case an Ammonite) to voice his own theological viewpoint. This is a dramatic technique that persuades by presenting the unexpected. This literary tactic, moreover, is itself a theological statement, representing, in the act of speech, the message being conveyed in the book: God’s power over Israel’s enemies. The function of the speech of Achior thus conforms to the previously examined speeches in this chapter. As in those speeches, outsiders were used to forward the Jewish theological point of view of the implied author, a literary ploy which itself points to a greater theological construct. At this point, therefore, we can rightly speak of a topos that employs the outsider to accent the insider’s worldview.

afraid that if the Jews were not guilty, he would be defeated. Only after his conversion can he be called righteous; but then he would not be a ‘pagan’. In addition, some of Roitman’s parallels are forced or artificial. 116 It must be remembered that Achior uttered his speech before his conversion.

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3.6

Josephus

In the works examined to this point it has not been unusually difficult to extract those speeches of characters who were outsiders to the Jewish theological viewpoint of the implied author. This clarity was the result of several factors. First, the nature of the writings is clearly religious; their aim was ultimately to present a particular vision of God and his relationship to his people. Secondly, the works are intensely patriotic, an orientation which in the Jewish case went hand in hand with the religious nature of the writings. Thirdly, the works were aimed at insiders, people who to a large extent had taken on board the theological viewpoint of the respective writers. The above circumstances thus permitted the authors to construct narratives in which a binary ideology was readily visible: good/evil, right/wrong, orthodox/unorthodox. In short, the writings examined heretofore show enough common traits to fit comfortably under the label of ‘covenantal nomism’.117 Given the Jewish particularistic perspective from which the authors wrote, it was primarily nonJews who were presented as outsiders to the authorial point of view.118 In the case of Josephus, on the other hand, matters are more complex. First, it remains a matter of debate precisely what was Josephus’ principal theological inclination (if he had any). Even if that inclination is detected, the question remains whether his 117 See E.P. Sanders, Judaism: Practice and Belief, 63 BCE–66 CE (London: SCM Press, 1992), pp. 47–303; James D.G. Dunn, The Parting of the Ways: Between Christianity and Judaism and their Significance for the Character of Christianity (London: SCM Press, 1991), pp. 18–36. See also Gabriele Boccaccini, Beyond the Essene Hypothesis: The Parting of the Ways between Qumran and Enochic Judaism (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1998), who calls the Judaism labelled by Sanders as covenantal nomism with the title of ‘Zadokite Judaism’. For a critique of this ‘monothetic’ approach to finding an essence of Judaism, see most recently the rigorous work of James R. Davila, The Provenance of the Pseudepigrapha: Jewish, Christian, or Other? (Leiden: Brill, 2005), pp. 15–21. Following Jonathan Z. Smith, Davila proposes a ‘polythetic’ approach, which seeks to find broad characteristics to a religious group rather than one single essence that must be possessed by every member. Using this classification, he views all the Second Temple works examined in this chapter (i.e., 1 and 2 Maccabees, 3 Maccabees, and Judith) as exhibiting a ‘common Judaism’. The Jewish traits proposed by Davila are virtually the same as those advanced by Sanders and Dunn as concerns covenantal nomism. 118 I use the term ‘particularistic’ to refer to the authors’ belief that Yahweh is the only true God and that Israel is his special people. Foreigners are welcome (e.g. Achior), as long as they recognise these two pillars. The opposite is also true; when a Jew rejects his special status by forsaking the Law, he is grouped with the gentiles (see 1 Maccabees).

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theology, at its core, mutates according to the genre and purpose of his different writings. For example, is it legitimate to speak of a common theology underlying both the Jewish War and the Antiquities?119 Harold Attridge captures the dilemma well in the following sentence: ‘Pharisee, Essene, All, at various times, and even None. These are the basic alternative answers to the question of the religious affiliation of Josephus and his theological viewpoint.’120 To illustrate the difficulty in pinning down Josephus’ theological viewpoint, one may note the universal thrust of the Antiquities. Already in the proem to that work a universalistic slant can be appreciated: But, speaking generally, the main lesson to be learnt from this history by any who care to peruse it is that men who conform to the will of God, and do not venture to transgress laws that have been excellently laid down, prosper in all things beyond belief, and for their reward are offered by God felicity; whereas, in proportion as they depart from the strict observance of these laws, things (else) practicable become impracticable, and whatever imaginary good thing they strive to do ends in irretrievable disasters.121 Of course, one may say that Josephus is stating from the outset the Deuteronomistic grid through which he will interpret history; the vocabulary of retribution is obvious.122 Nevertheless, the mention of Israel is conspicuously absent in this section. In fact, as one reads further in the Antiquities, it is clear that Josephus has domesticated the notion of biblical covenant by stressing that any nation can be See in this respect Shaye J.D. Cohen, Josephus in Galilee and Rome, pp. 91–100, 232–42, who argues that Josephus’ attitudes changed in Rome under the reign of Domitian: he changed from a Roman propagandist (as in Jewish War) to a more nationalistic historian, ‘more conscious of religious consideration’, as in the Antiquities and the Life (p. 236). 120 Harold W. Attridge, The Interpretation of Biblical History in the Antiquitates Judaicae of Flavius Josephus (Missoula, MT: Scholars Press,1976), p. 15. See also pp. 3–27 in Attridge for a helpful discussion of Josephus’ possible theological affiliations. 121 Ant. 1.14. Unless otherwise noted, translations of Josephus follow the Loeb edition. 122 As argued, for example, by Per Bilde, Flavius Josephus between Jerusalem and Rome: His Life, his Works, and their Importance (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press,1988), pp. 184–7. But cf. John M.G. Barclay, Jews in the Mediterranean Diaspora: From Alexander to Trajan (323 BCE–117 CE) (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1996), p. 357, who states that the concept of divine reward and punishment is also apparent in Greek historiography. See further above on this point. 119

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blessed by God as long as it practises virtue. Josephus is fond of the term πρόνοια (providence, fate); however, the idea that God would exercise providential care of Israel regardless of their conduct is missing. Rather, God is the helper of those who, from all humanity, first seek to obey him.123 This is not to deny Josephus’ particular interest in the Jews as related in the Antiquities (on Jewish War, see below). He is indeed presenting an apology for them, suggesting, in essence, that the Jews are a very ancient race (seen as a quality of respectability by ancients), that they are not misanthropic, that they have excellent laws, and that the Romans themselves have, through various edicts, sanctioned the practice of their religion.124 As others have noted, Josephus may have been following the example of Dionysius of Halicarnassus’ Roman Antiquities in presenting cultural propaganda, attempting to persuade the public of the validity of a particular race.125 The Antiquities are, in fact, a plea before a Greek-speaking readership, asking it to tolerate the religious liberties of the Jews that history has shown they deserve. This plea is heard in all its passion in the long speech of Nicolas of Damascus on behalf of the Ionian Jews.126 He makes the following requests: The only thing which we have asked to share with others is the right to preserve our ancestral religion without interference (16.41). We therefore ask, great Agrippa, that we may not suffer this mistreatment, that we be not outraged, that we be not prevented from observing our own customs and that we be not deprived of our present rights nor have forced upon us by these opponents what we do not force upon them (16.47). In reminding you of these things and of (the services of) our king, who is now present and sitting beside you, we ask for nothing special but only that you do not allow us to be deprived by others of the rights that you yourselves have given us (16.57).

See in particular Moses’ speech in Ant. 4.176–93. See Attridge, The Interpretation of Biblical History, pp. 71–96. 124 See Ant. 14.196–267, 306–323. 125 See Attridge, The Interpretation of Biblical History, pp. 43–57. 126 Ant. 16.30–57. 123

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This speech seeks to go beyond its dramatic situation to address the readers of the Antiquities. What should be noted, however, is that the speech is not a defence of Jewish particularism, presenting the Jews (as the other writings examined in this chapter) as the unique, favoured-above-all race. In fact, in the Antiquities as a whole the notion of the exclusivity of the Jews as God’s special people based solely on the deity’s arbitrary choice is carefully excised. Attridge concludes: These events [related in the Antiquities] are seen to give evidence for a general truth stated in the preface, namely that God exercises providential care for the world. This providence consists primarily in the rewarding of virtue and punishing of vice. The history of Israel is seen to be a collection of miraculous and prophetical evidence for the truth of that belief. In working out that theme in the history of Israel, Josephus wrestles with the problem which its status as ‘Chosen people’ presents. Ultimately God’s special care for Israel is seen to be simply a particular case of his general mode of relating to the world.127 Given the above universalistic scope, both Jews and gentiles are considered to be righteous and as a result under God’s care, provided they lead pious lives. Consequently, detecting the speeches of opponents is not simply a matter of scanning the Antiquities in order to find speeches of non-Jews. One does find non-Jews offering direct speech; however, the fact that they are non-Jews does not mean that they hold a point of view which is contrary to Josephus’. For example, Josephus relates how in the first century BCE, in view of the Macedonian ravaging of Judea and of his own desire for glory, the high priest Onias wrote to Ptolemy Philometor and Cleopatra asking for permission to build a temple in the fortress Bubastis-of-the-Fields (Ant. 13.62–8). In their response (also via letter), the Egyptian monarchs stated that they were not sure that building a temple in a location with

Attridge, The Interpretation of Biblical History, p. 107 (emphasis added). Gregory E. Sterling, Historiography and Self-Definition, p. 297, reaches a similar verdict: ‘At the same time, the material [Antiquities] is Hellenized both in language and in substance. This bi-polar stance, i.e., an apology to Hellenism through the glorification of the Jewish past and the Hellenization of Israel’s tradition, appears to be the dominant hermeneutical device through which the historian shaped his magnum opus. His moralizing tendency helped to hold it all together by incorporating Deuteronomistic theology in the form of “providence” drawn from Hellenistic historiography.’ 127

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idolatrous sacred animals would be pleasing to God. However, they stated that since this was prophesied by the prophet Isaiah (according to Onias, at least!), they would allow for the building in order to be obedient to God (Ant. 13.70–1). One may conclude that Josephus is following the literary topos that we have seen in previous works, namely, of having a non-Jew momentarily adopt the Jewish theological point of view of the author. Nevertheless, Josephus is clear that Philometor and Cleopatra were righteous. He states before reproducing their letter: ‘And one may get a notion of the king’s piety (εὐσέβεια) and that of his sister and wife Cleopatra from the letter which they wrote in reply, for they placed the blame for the sin and transgression against the Law on the head of Onias, writing the following reply’ (Ant. 13.69). Thus, although the potentates are Egyptian (and, of course, unconverted to Judaism), they do not stand against the theological point of view of Josephus – given his inclusive view of righteousness. Not only is Josephus’ wider (in contrast to other Second Temple Jewish authors) conception of piety a hurdle in detecting characters who oppose his theological viewpoint, but also his social circumstances at the time of writing add another difficulty. Josephus, it is well known, received numerous benefits from Vespasian and his son Titus, including Roman citizenship, Vespasian’s house before he was Emperor, and a pension (see Life 422–9). His works were composed, therefore, under Flavian patronage. The possible effects of this social scenario have been widely discussed, especially in connection to the Jewish War. Some have gone as far as calling Josephus a Roman or Flavian propagandist.128 Tessa Rajak, on the other hand, has sought to redress the issue, arguing that Josephus’ Flavian relationship did not affect the historian’s account in an elemental way. Although she has been accused of projecting Josephus in too positive a light as an objective historian, her position seems to me to be balanced enough: There were many opportunities within it [Jewish War] to present the persons of Vespasian and Titus in a glowing light, and these opportunities were not missed by the author. In this way he acknowledged his patrons, and rendered them

128 See especially Richard Laqueur, Der jüdische Historiker Flavius Josephus (Giessen: Munchow, 1970), pp. 245–78; Cohen, Josephus in Galilee and Rome, pp. 232–4.

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ample service. This is the area within which the Flavians did influence the work …129 Whatever amount of influence Josephus’ Roman patronage had on his work, it is clear that, generally speaking, the Romans are portrayed positively, with Titus in particular being represented as blameless. According to Josephus, the Romans did not want to destroy the temple; however, due to the fanatical actions of a group of Jewish brigands, they were forced to do it.130 Josephus advocated surrender to the Romans, having reached the conclusion that fortune was now on the side of the enemy. In fact, Josephus is emphatic in stating that the rule of humanity had now been transferred by God to the Romans; the Jewish nation, due to its disobedience, had lost its special privileges.131 As Helgo Lindner has shown, it is through the great three speeches in the Jewish War, those of Agrippa (2.345–401), Josephus (5.362–419), and Eleazar (7.323–36, 341–88), that this point of view is expressed: Grundlegend für das Geschichtsverständnis der Reden ist die Gerichtsaussage: Hinter dem Zusammenbruch des Jahres 70 steht ein Richterspruch Gottes über das gesamte jüdische Volk (7, 327; vgl. 5, 399–414). Die Juden sind das von Gott geliebte Volk … er ist der ‘Schöpfer’ dieses Volkes … ihr Rächer, wenn ihnen Unrecht angetan wird…aber als Richter wacht er über der Einhaltung der Tora und stellt sich in den geschichtlichen Ereignissen als zorniger Gott gegen sein Volk … Was Gott von den Juden will, ist vor allem, daß sie ihm die rechte Verehrung darbringen … Die Besonderheit Israels, also die Erwählung, kann so ausgedrückt werden, daß die Juden das Volk der νεωκόροι, der ‘Tempeldiener’ Gottes gennant werden. So liegen auch Versündigung und Gericht primär auf der Ebene des Kultus: Durch jüdische Hände ist der Tempel mit einer Fülle von Untaten befleckt … und Gott hat ihn verlassen, sich auf die Seite der Gegner gestellt … ehe der Zusammenbruch Jerusalems und die Verbrennung des Tempels selbst erfolgen.132

Tessa Rajak, Josephus: The Historian and his Society (London: Duckworth, 1983), p. 203. 130 See War 1.9–12; 5.257. 131 See War 3.350–4, 494–6; 4.179; 5.367. 132 Helgo Lindner, Die Geschichtsauffassung des Flavius Josephus im Bellum Judaicum (Leiden: Brill, 1972), pp. 142–3. 129

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Since God has now shifted to the enemy’s camp, one cannot view the Romans as opponents of Josephus. This is one of the reasons why the historian considered it right to surrender. Consequently, given the purpose and method of this chapter, it is illegitimate indiscriminately to use the speeches of Romans (particularly of Vespasian and Titus) as examples of the author using the words of outsiders to voice his own theological perspective. The complex web of theological blending (Deuteronomistic historiography radically reshaped by Hellenistic historiography), apologetics (on behalf of the Jewish nation), social obligations (toward the Flavians), and rhetorical situation (works written for outsiders) all make it difficult to isolate in Josephus’ works speeches of characters who, while being in principle outsiders to the author’s point of view, nevertheless end up uttering words which voice the author’s theology and hence advance his ideological programme. To be sure, particularly in the Antiquities, certain characters of high social standing provide brief encomia for the Jewish nation.133 Nevertheless, these characters are not portrayed as opposing Josephus’ perspective. In this way the element of hubris, fundamental to the other writings examined in this chapter, is somewhat tamed in Josephus’ works. It is true that the motif of the arrogant person being humbled by the deity is present in Josephus. However, the Jewish apologetic edge is dulled; that is to say, the arrogant person is brought low not because he/she has offended against the Jewish deity in particular, but simply because he/she has acted arrogantly: the emphasis is moved from the particularity of the deity who is offended to the general concept of providence.134

133

E.g. Alexander the Great (Ant. 11.333–5) and Petronius (Ant. 18.279–83). It is interesting to note in this respect the case of Pharaoh, surely one of the prime examples of hubris in the Hebrew Bible. In speaking of the plagues that befell Egypt as a result of Pharaoh’s arrogance, Josephus gives the following detailed explanation in Ant. 2.293: 134

But, since the king disdained these words of Moses and paid no more heed to them, dire plagues descended upon the Egyptians. I shall recount them all, first because no such plagues as the Egyptians experienced ever befell any nation before, next from a desire to show that Moses in not one of his predictions to them was mistaken, and further because it behoves mankind to learn to restrict themselves to such action as shall not offend the Deity (τò θεῖον) nor provoke Him in wrath to punish them for their iniquities. What is striking here is the absence of emphasis on the magnitude of the plagues because they came as a result of obstinacy against the Jewish God and his people.

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I propose, therefore, that the best way forward is to examine those speeches of characters whom Josephus condemns in his own authorial voice and/or who utter a speech that indisputably contradicts what the historian has himself said in direct speech or narration. To my knowledge, the only speech that meets these criteria is that of the Zealot Eleazar in BJ 7.323–36, 341–88. 3.6.1

The speech

The setting for this speech is the deeply moving and tragic episode at Masada, the last stronghold to be conquered by the Romans (approximately 73 CE). Josephus (with no little emotion) narrates how, at the behest of Eleazar, the leader of the sicarii, 960 people, including women and children, committed suicide. They performed this tragic deed from a firm belief that God alone should be their ruler (7.323). The more important sections of the speech are reproduced below. Maybe, indeed, we ought from the very first … to have read God’s purpose and to have recognized that the Jewish race, once beloved of Him, had been doomed to perdition … For it was not of their own accord that those flames which were driving against the enemy turned back upon the wall constructed by us; no, all this betokens wrath at the many wrongs which we madly dared to inflict upon our countrymen … Do not attach the blame to yourselves, nor credit the Romans, that this war with them has been the ruin of us all; for it was not their might that brought these things to pass, but the intervention of some more powerful cause has afforded them the semblance of victory (War 7.327–8, 332, 360). That Eleazar is a character who stands in direct opposition to Josephus’ beliefs is abundantly clear. First, he is the leader of the sicarii. Josephus, in his own authorial voice, categorically condemns the sicarii: For in those days the Sicarii clubbed together against those who consented to submit to Rome and in every way treated them as enemies, plundering their property, rounding up their cattle, and setting fire to their habitations; protesting that such persons were no other than aliens, who so ignobly sacrificed the hard-won liberty of the Jews and admitted their preference for the Roman yoke. Yet, after all, this was but a

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The speeches of outsiders in Acts pretext, put forward by them as a cloak for their cruelty and avarice, as was made plain by their actions (War 7.254–5, emphasis added).

Secondly, Eleazar advocates suicide rather than surrender; Josephus himself, in the speech to his comrades at the cave in Jotapata, argued at length against this ideology: ‘Why, comrades’, said he [Josephus], ‘this thirst for our own blood? Why set asunder such fond companions as soul and body? One says that I am changed: well, the Romans know the truth about that. Another says, “It is honourable to die in war”: yes, but according to the law of war, that is to say by the hand of the conqueror … “It is honourable to die for liberty”, says another: I concur, but on condition that one dies fighting, by the hands of those who would rob us of it … “It is noble to destroy oneself”, another will say. Not so, I retort, but most ignoble; in my opinion there could be no more arrant coward than the pilot who, for fear of a tempest, deliberately sinks his ship before the storm’ (War 3.363–8). It is clear from the above speech that Josephus vigorously opposes Eleazar’s point of view. The speeches of Josephus in Jotapata and Eleazar at Masada, in fact, have a similar function as those in Greek historiography, especially in the Thucydidean tradition, where speeches of two opposing points of view are set in contrast to one another.135 It is thus accurate to conclude that Eleazar is undoubtedly opposed to Josephus’ viewpoint. What is interesting to note is how, on certain sections of the speech, Eleazar’s views dovetail with those of Josephus. In particular, the theological conclusion that God has abandoned the Jewish people because of their unrighteous acts and has moved to the side of the Romans is visible in the segments of Eleazar’s speech quoted above. What is to be noted is that in other parts of the Jewish War Josephus reaches the same conclusion regarding God’s abandonment of Israel. The following quotations suffice: ‘Since it please thee’, so it [Josephus’ prayer] ran, ‘who didst create the Jewish nation, to break thy work, since fortune has wholly passed to the Romans (μετέβη δὲ πρòς ʿΡωμαίους ἡ

135

See Rajak, Josephus, p. 89.

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τύχη πᾶσα) … I willingly surrender to the Romans and consent to live …’ (War 3.354). ‘Yet subservience to the foreigner might be attributed to fortune having once for all proved too strong for us; whereas to surrender to villains of one’s own country argues a base and deliberate servility.’136 Fortune, indeed, had from all quarters passed over to them (μεταβῆναι γὰρ πρòς αὐτοὺς πάνθοτεν τὴν τύχεην), and God who went the round of the nations, bringing to each in turn the rod of empire, now rested over Italy.137 ‘For myself, I shudder at recounting the works of God to unworthy ears; yet listen, that you may learn that you are warring not against the Romans only, but also against God.’138 Josephus, in effect, in the speech of Eleazar, uses the words of one of the principal antagonists to Roman rule in order to express his own views.139 This is a dramatic rhetorical manoeuvre that attempts to persuade by showing how even one of the fiercest sicarii finally recognised that God was siding with the Romans and thus how vain it would be to resist them. Lindner, partly following Thackeray, has argued (correctly, I believe) that this is a propagandistic move, aimed at both the Roman and the Jewish reader: Nach Thackeray stehen die Reden [of Agrippa, Josephus, and Eleazar] im Dienst der ‘Propaganda’, und dies gilt nach seiner Auffassung auch für das ganze Bellum: Es soll die Juden mit ihrer Rolle als Untertanen der Römer aussöhnen und einem weiteren Aufflackern zelotischer Bewegungen entgegenwirken. Mit dieser praktisch-politischen Zielsetzung will Josephus, wie Thackeray meint, nicht bloß die römischen Interessen vertreten, sondern gerade auch die sienes eigenen Volkes.140 The speech of Eleazar, therefore, is used by Josephus to move forward his own viewpoint. To the Roman readership, the fact that even one War 4.179. Speech of the high priest Ananus, a character admired by Josephus. War 5.367. Speech of Josephus in oratio obliqua. 138 War 5.378. Speech of Josephus. 139 Thus also Lindner, Die Geschichtsauffassung des Flavius Josephus, pp. 33–40; Rajak, Josephus, p. 83. 140 Lindner, Die Geschichtsauffassung des Flavius Josephus, pp. 40–41. 136 137

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of the most obstinate leaders of the Jewish revolt concluded, after serious reflection, that fortune was on the side of Rome, may have served as reassurance for the legitimacy of the empire (not to mention propaganda for the Flavians). For those Jews who read the work, the words of Eleazar were meant to persuade them to accept their current lot as divinely imposed; their focus should now be the continuation of the practice of their religion in quiet submission. 3.6.2

Conclusion

Josephus was quite aware of the persuasive power of having even the outsider concede one’s viewpoint. After summarising in Book 3 of the Antiquities the utter respect of both Jews and non-Jews to the Mosaic law (illustrated by the scrupulous obedience to the sacrificial code of ‘certain persons’ beyond the Euphrates and the Jerusalem priests), he ‘clinches’ the argument in the following conclusion: ‘Wherefore one need not marvel at what happened then, seeing that to this very day the writings left by Moses have such authority that even our enemies admit that our constitution (τὴν πολιτείαν) was established by God himself, through the agency of Moses and his merits’ (Ant. 3.322, emphasis added). Further, if Feldman is correct, Josephus was skilful enough to take the arguments of an archenemy – Apion – and turn them upside down. Feldman argues that statements that Apion intended as a smear against the Jews were, ironically, a concession to their virtues; and Josephus has used this to his advantage: ‘Josephus, no mean rhetorician himself, shows clearly in the treatise Against Apion, his finest work stylistically, that he is extraordinarily adept in answering an invective by transforming its charges into concessions.’141 Lastly, Josephus, from his knowledge of the Hebrew Bible and other post-canonical works (e.g. 1 Maccabees, Letter of Aristeas), would have seen how the authors of those works often took the speeches of outsiders to accent their own Jewish theological viewpoint.

141 Louis H. Feldman, ‘Pro-Jewish Intimations in Anti-Jewish Remarks Cited in Josephus’ Against Apion’, in Studies in Hellenistic Judaism (Leiden: Brill, 1996), p. 230 (see also pp. 232–6). A condensed version of this essay (under the title ‘Reading between the Lines: Appreciation of Judaism in Anti-Jewish Writers Cited in Contra Apionem) is found in Josephus’ Contra Apionem: Studies in its Character and Context with a Latin Concordance to the Portion Missing in Greek, ed. Louis H. Feldman and John R. Levinson (Leiden: Brill, 1996), pp. 250–70.

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It is thus puzzling that Josephus, though having numerous opportunities, did not exploit, in the Antiquities or Jewish War, the possibilities of using the speeches of outsiders to forward his own point of view.142 According to the criteria set in this section, only the speech of his opponent Eleazar was used for persuasive ends. As I have suggested, a complex mixture of theological, rhetorical, political, and social factors may have made it very difficult for Josephus to exploit the speeches of outsiders as had other Jewish authors of the Second Temple period. 3.7

Other writings

Due to space limitations, it is impossible to provide in-depth analyses of other Jewish writings where the literary topos investigated in this chapter is found. The following thumbnail sketches are offered as further corroboration for the thesis being argued in this chapter. 3.7.1

Greek Esther Addition E

After the reversal of fortune by which Haman, the enemy of the Jews, ended up being executed and the rights of the Jews upheld, the MT of Esther indicates that King Ahasuerus authorised Mordecai to write a letter reversing the king’s previous letter ordering Jewish annihilation. The MT, though giving the purpose of the letter, does not cite its contents. Addition E of Greek Esther, on the other hand, provides a copy (ἀντίγραφος) of the letter.143 In this letter, the king (who in Greek Esther is Artaxerxes) makes the following comments concerning the Jews: For Haman son of Hammedatha, a Macedonian (really alien to the Persian blood, and quite devoid of our kindness), having become our guest, enjoyed so fully the goodwill that we have for every nation that he was called our father and was continually bowed down to by all as the person second to the royal throne. But, unable to restrain his arrogance, he 142 For example, in his paraphrase of the first chapters of the book of Daniel, Josephus does not even reproduce the speeches of Nebuchadnezzar. 143 The Greek text used is the Göttingen Septuagint text (not the Alpha Text) edited by Robert Hanhart, Esther (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1966). Carey A. Moore, Daniel, Esther and Jeremiah: The Additions (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1977), pp. 161, 165–6, suggests Addition E probably comes from Alexandria around 114 BCE.

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The speeches of outsiders in Acts undertook to deprive us of our kingdom and our life, and with intricate craft and deceit asked for the destruction of Mordecai, our saviour and perpetual benefactor (τòν τε ἡμέτερον σωτῆρα καὶ διὰ παντòς εὐεργέτην), and of Esther, the blameless partner of our kingdom (τὴν ἄμεπτον τῆς βασιλείας κοινωνόν), together with their whole nation. He thought that by these methods he would catch us undefended and would transfer the kingdom of the Persians to the Macedonians. But we find that the Jews, who were consigned to annihilation by this thrice-accursed man, are not evildoers, but are governed by most righteous laws and are children of the living God, most high, most mighty,144 who has directed the kingdom both for us and for our ancestors in the most excellent order.145

It is obvious that through this fictitious letter the author of Addition E is having the Persian monarch agree with his own Jewish theological persuasion.146 The encomium of Mordecai, Esther, the Jewish constitution, and God (vv. 13–15), is the climax of the work, demonstrating God’s ability to turn around the fortunes of his people. This is corroborated in Addition F of Greek Esther, where Mordecai explains the meaning of his dream: These things have come from God; for I remember the dream I had concerning these matters, and none of them has failed to be fulfilled … The nations are those that gathered to destroy the name of the Jews. And my nation, this is Israel, who cried out to God and was saved. The Lord has saved his people; the Lord has rescued us from all these evils; God has done great signs and wonders that have never happened among the nations.147 The written speech thus conforms to the literary topos that flourishes in post-exilic literature and which is especially popular among the Diaspora Jews from which the additions to Esther themselves sprang: a powerful outsider espouses the theological point of view of the Jewish author, this being symbolic of God’s sovereignty. 144

The Alpha Text of Esther is more direct in its monotheism. Instead of the expression ‘living God, most high, most mighty’, it refers to God as ‘only’ and ‘true’ (υἱοὺς τοῦ μόνου θεοῦ καὶ ἀληθινοῦ). 145 Addition E 10–16. 146 Thus also Moore, Esther, pp. 236–8. 147 Addition F 4–5, 8–9.

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Letter of Aristeas

The so-called Letter of Aristeas is an encomiastic work that praises all things Jewish, including the temple (83–104), the beauty of Jerusalem (105–20), and above all the law (187–294). From the contents of the book it is clear that, although the author portrays himself as a gentile, he is nonetheless Jewish.148 By adopting a gentile persona who is constantly in awe of Jewish institutions, the narrator has already shown one of his purposes, namely, to provide Jewish encomia through the mouth of a ‘foreigner’. It is in keeping with this purpose that the author has the Egyptian king (who in the dramatic situation is probably Ptolemy Philadelphus), upon the arrival of the Jewish deputation with the Hebrew parchments of the law, bowing down: So they arrived with the gifts which had been sent at their hands and with the fine skins on which the Law had been written in letters of gold in Jewish characters; the parchment had been excellently worked, and the joining together of the letters was imperceptible. When the king saw the delegates, he proceeded to ask questions about the books, and when they had shown what had been covered and unrolled the parchments, he paused for a long time, did obeisance about seven times, and said, ‘I offer to you my thanks, gentlemen, and to him who sent you even more, and most of all to the God whose oracles these are’ (Aristeas 176–7). The acknowledgement of the divine provenance of the Jewish law by an outsider of the stature of a Ptolemaic king is meant to be a persuasive manoeuvre to convince readers of the law’s divine nature (if the intended reader is an outsider), or to show that the law is in no way inferior to Hellenistic philosophy (if the intended reader is an insider).149 Whatever the scenario, the author of the Letter of Aristeas is aware of the rhetorical potency of having an outsider adopt, even if momentarily, the author’s Jewish theological viewpoint.150 R.H.J. Shutt in OTP, ‘Letter of Aristeas’, p. 9. See in particular Victor Tcherikover, ‘The Ideology of the Letter of Aristeas’, in Studies in the Septuagint: Origins, Recensions, and Interpretations, ed. Sidney Jellicoe (New York: Ktav Publishing House, 1974), pp. 181–207. Cf. Todd Penner, In Praise of Christian Origins, pp. 236–42. 150 Tcherikover, ‘The Ideology of the Letter of Aristeas’, pp. 68–9, believes that the ultimate purpose of this rhetorical ploy was to bring Jews closer to Greek culture. He states, ‘There is nothing that makes you love people more than the knowledge that they 148 149

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3.7.3

Fragmentary Hellenistic Jewish authors

The fragmentary nature of the writings of the above authors deters me from putting too much weight on them as support. Their (scant) evidence is brought forward merely to point out that the use of the words of the outsider might also have been viewed by them as possessing persuasive value. From the convenient compilation of Hellenistic Jewish historians pulled together by Carl R. Holladay,151 I could locate two authors who employ the words of outsiders to forward their own Jewish theological argument. First, Eupolemus (ca second century BCE), on the basis of a similar epistolary exchange between Solomon and Hiram in 1Kgs 5.1–9, fabricated another letter exchange between Solomon and Vaphres, king of Egypt. In his reply, the author puts words into the mouth of King Vaphres that point rather to the Jewish theological perspective: ‘I rejoiced exceedingly as soon as I read the letter from you. Indeed, both I and all my realm observed a day of celebration for your having received the kingdom from a man [i.e. David] both noble and approved by so great a God.’152 Secondly, Pseudo-Hecataeus (ca second century BCE) uses words of the Greek tragedian Sophocles to argue against idolatry: In fact, as Hecataeus, the composer of histories reports in his book ‘According to Abraham and the Egyptians’, Sophocles exclaims plainly on the stage: ‘One, in truth indeed, God is one, Who made both the heaven and the far-stretching earth … But as most mortals, having erred in heart, we have established, as solace for our woes, images of gods – of stone, or of brass, or statues wrought of gold or ivory; and to these, sacrifices and immoral festivals appointing, we thus reckon ourselves religious’.153 Although the lack of a narrative context makes it extremely difficult to place too much weight on the evidence of these two fragmentary

love you. Aristeas’ reader was expected to deduce from the King’s and the courtier’s affectionate attitude toward Jews that he himself ought to develop an affection toward Greeks.’ 151 Carl Holladay, Fragments from Hellenistic Jewish Authors. vol. 1. Historians (Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 1983). 152 Eupolemus, Fragment Two, 32.1–2. 153 Pseudo-Hecataeus, Fragment Three, 1–15. The passage has not been located among Sophocles’ known works.

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authors, it is nevertheless possible to conclude that they might have used the words of the outsider to bolster their apologetic aims.154 3.8

Conclusion

In bringing this chapter to a close, it may be helpful to set out the components that make up the motif uncovered in the writings examined. First, the speeches were uttered by outsiders; due to the nature of the writings, these outsiders were non-Jews (the exception, of course, being Eleazar in Josephus’ Jewish War). Secondly, almost all the speakers possessed distinguished social status: they were either kings or high-ranking officials (even Achior is called ὁ ἡγούμενος πάντων υἱῶν Αμμων). Thirdly, at the time when they offered their speeches, none of the speakers was presented by the authors as converts to Judaism. Fourthly, the authors constructed their narratives in such a way as to lead the readers to conclude that the speeches came as a result of divine pressure on the speakers. Lastly, the speeches were tools by which the writers advanced their own Jewish agenda, either by having the speakers praise Judaica or by showing that the speeches were used to accomplish God’s purposes. We can thus legitimately speak of a literary topos with respect to the speeches of outsiders in numerous biblical and Second Temple narrative works. The motif can be summarised as follows: the use of the speeches of outsiders is a rhetorical technique whereby the speakers are shown momentarily to adopt the particular Jewish point of view of the respective authors in order to further those authors’ agendas. It is a truism that every author has a particular point of view which he or she wants to transmit. In the case of narrative literature, the author’s point of view can be communicated in several ways. One manner is to sculpt the plot in such a persuasive fashion that the reader is swept to the side of the shore where the author himself is standing. Another way is by intruding into the narrative to provide a direct statement of his or her values. Still another way is by including the speeches of protagonists, who are generally aligned with the point of view of the author. The authors of the works which I have assessed

154 On Eupolemus’ fabricated correspondence between Salomon and Vaphres and its possible apologetic ends, see John J. Collins, Between Athens and Jerusalem: Jewish Identity in the Hellenistic Diaspora, 2nd edn. (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2000), p. 47.

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chose, among other techniques, this last one. However, they added a dramatic twist, for they showed not only the insiders affirming their point of view through their speeches, but also the outsiders. These were characters of high social status, mostly kings, who, after being humiliated by the Jewish God, came to affirm the point of view of the implied authors. By having these powerful outsiders themselves agree with the ideology of the implied authors, the writers have constructed an intensely dramatic portrayal that persuades by shocking. These literary observations open the door for some theological/ historiographic comments regarding the use of speeches of outsiders in Jewish narrative. It should first of all be noted that all these speeches are found in post-exilic literature; their components are not found in previous biblical literature. Thus, although the exile had technically ended by the time these works were written, the Jews were still under foreign domination – Persian, Ptolemaic, Seleucid, Greek, and Roman respectively. Secondly, James Scott has recently argued, in my opinion persuasively, that at least part of the Jewish Diaspora viewed itself as still being in exile.155 Consequently, it is plausible to suggest that the Jews who composed and read these works were surrounded by historical realities that seriously challenged their cherished beliefs: is Yahweh benevolent? Is he in control of history? Does he protect his people? These are questions which the traumatic experiences of exile and oppression bring to the surface. Ι am suggesting, therefore, that the use of the speeches of high-ranking outsiders to voice the narrator’s Jewish point of view is more than mere literary technique. These speeches are symbolic of the reversal of fortune of the oppressor and the oppressed: in short, they suggest that the Jewish God is firmly in control of history and is still protecting his people.156 155 James Scott, ‘Exile and the Self-Understanding of Diaspora Jews in the GrecoRoman Period’, in Exile: Old Testament, Jewish, and Christian Conceptions, ed. James M. Scott (Leiden: Brill, 1997), pp. 173–218. 156 See also Victor Tcherikover, ‘Jewish Apologetic Literature Reconsidered’, Eos 48 (1956): 180, who makes the equally valid point that in the Hellenistic period the educated Jews of Alexandria (from where the majority of the works explored in this chapter probably sprang) needed confirmation of the validity of Judaism vis-à-vis Hellenism:

The panegyric tendency existed already in the second century B.C., especially, it should be stressed, among writers who were imbued with the spirit of Hellenism, such as Aristeas, Artapanos and Aristobulos. This tendency to extol Judaism resulted from an inner need so characteristic of educated Jewish circles in Egypt. Those Jews who approached Hellenistic civilisation

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In the next section of this project I shall be investigating the topos of the outsider in the Acts of the Apostles. Is Luke’s treatment of the outsider influenced in any way by the works examined in this chapter, and if so, how does this affect our reading of the speeches of outsiders and their contribution to Luke’s opus?

by all possible ways and were influenced by it in their way of life and thought, found it easier to cling to Judaism as long as they knew that Judaism stood on an equal level with Hellenism.

4 THE GAMALIEL SPEECH

With this chapter I begin my assessment of the speeches of outsiders in Acts. The particular discourse to be discussed is the well-known address of the Pharisee Gamaliel. As we observed in the Introduction, it is crucial that the speeches of Acts be studied within their narrative settings, the reason being that the narrative situation affects our understanding of the speech and the speech in turn affects our understanding of the narrative of which it is part. Consequently, a good portion of this chapter is dedicated to an investigation of the principal theme being advanced in Acts 5.17–42. In this chapter I will take note of Luke’s careful arrangement whereby he highlights the stiff opposition encountered by the apostles in their task of gospel preaching. I will note that in his plot construction Luke places the speech of Gamaliel at the height of the conflict between the apostles and the Jewish authorities. I will concentrate on the dramatic ironic dimensions of the speech and on the resultant theological/ historiographic implications. I will suggest that the speech plays a vital role for our understanding of Luke’s use of the speeches of outsiders. 4.1

Context

Acts 5.17–42 is found in the larger context of 4.1–7.60, where Luke narrates the spread of the apostolic message in Jerusalem and its vicinity. This dissemination occurs within a framework of repression against the apostles on the part of the Jerusalem authorities. The clashes between the authorities and the apostles are presented by Luke as intensifying in each subsequent event: ch. 4 tells of only two apostles (Peter and John) being warned to stop preaching in the name of Jesus; ch. 5 includes all the apostles along with another warning but also a beating;1 chs. 6–7 are the climax of these encounters where the figure 1 For the opinion that these events of chs. 4 and 5 are doublets, see G. Schneider, Die Apostelgeschichte, 2 vols. (Freiburg: Herder & Herder, 1980–1982), Vol. 1, p. 387.

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of Stephen is neither warned nor beaten but rather martyred. Our current text, then, falls in the midst of these conflicts, representing the ‘middle point’ of the encounters. To be sure, were it not for the intervention of Gamaliel, this episode would not have served as a ‘middle point’: the council wanted to kill the apostles (5.33) and presumably would have done so had this Pharisee not advocated restraint. Hence the importance of Gamaliel’s speech in the pericope is evident. 4.2

The narrative and the speech (5.17–42)

4.2.1

Setting

The setting of the story is the first building-block of the narrative. As Mark A. Powell indicates, narrative critics have identified three types of setting: spatial, temporal, and social.2 Spatial settings have to do with the physical location where the narrative takes place. Temporal settings relate to the time in which the narrative takes place. Lastly, social settings refer to the social circumstances embedded in the episode: political, economic, or cultural, for example.3 It has been the observation of narrative critics that settings work in the background of the plot. Thus Seymour Chatman has stated that the principal purpose of settings in an episode is ‘to contribute to the mood of the narrative’.4 Unlike most modern works of fiction, however, biblical narrative is much more economic in its description of settings. Nevertheless, this does not mean that setting has little impact in biblical narrative. Marguerat and Bourquin have suggested that in biblical narrative setting can have the following functions: (1) contribution to the atmosphere of the story (i.e. symbolic and metaphorical power), (2) participation in the impulse for action, and (3) help in determining the state of characters.5 Although Luke does not engage in detailed description in this pericope, the geographical setting is full of symbolic significance. There are two locations where the action takes place. The first is the Powell, What is Narrative Criticism, p. 70. 3 Ibid., pp. 70–5. Seymour Chatman, Story and Discourse: Narrative Structure in Fiction and Film (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1978), p. 141. As I will attempt to demonstrate in this work, however, narrative settings in Acts do more than just lend mood to the narrative; on occasion they exercise a profound effect on the plot. See particularly ch. 7 with respect to Paul’s imprisonment. 5 Marguerat and Bourquin, Pour lire les récits bibliques, p. 101. 2 4

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jail where the apostles are incarcerated for the night (5.18).6 The image of imprisonment – which will figure greatly in the scheme of Acts, particularly in later episodes – may have added a measure of suspense and fear to the reading audience aware of Acts 1.8 with its command to be witnesses to the ends of the earth. By making reference to imprisonment, Luke is already preparing the main lines of the plot not only of this episode, but of the entire book of Acts: the conflict embedded in the plot will consist of the disciples’ antagonists attempting to thwart the spread of the gospel. The second, more dominant spatial image in this scene is that of the temple. The mention of this location would have added a sense of antagonism to the entire scene, thus evoking a sentiment of oppression. The reason for this is that, for readers aware of the Gospel of Luke (or any of the other canonical Gospels for that matter), the temple represents the place par excellence where the most recalcitrant enemies of Christ operated. It was as he was teaching in the temple that the chief priests and scribes plotted to kill him (Lk. 19.47). It was also in the temple that, by means of arguments, the Jerusalem leadership attempted to trap Jesus and thus secure his condemnation (20.1–47). In fact, as his disciples pointed to the beauty of the temple, Jesus foretold that it would be utterly destroyed (21.5–6). Lastly, in Lk. 22.66–71 it was the council of the Jewish leadership (τò συνέδριον), who more than likely met in the temple, that most ardently advocated the execution of Jesus. The temple, therefore, is that locus where the followers of Jesus and their enemies are most prone to clash.7 In addition, by reporting that the apostles had their struggle against the temple authorities, Luke could be drawing a connection between the apostles and Jesus.8 This connection will be more evident when we examine the characters and events of this episode.

6

Most commentators agree that this was a temporary jail, in this case perhaps located at or near the temple. It might have been the equivalent to the Latin custodia publica. 7 It does not follow that Luke’s opinion of the temple is in principle negative. The early believers pray and preach there; in addition, it functions as the place of revelation in 3.1–10. See in this respect Steve Walton, ‘A Tale of Two Perspectives? The Place of the Temple in Acts’, in Heaven on Earth: The Temple in Biblical Theology, ed. T. Desmond Alexander and Simon Gathercole (Carlisle: Paternoster Press, 2004), pp. 135–49, who concludes that the place of the temple in Acts is one of transition: ‘The stories in Acts represent, as it were, the cusp of the change from a localized view of God dwelling in the Temple to what we might call a universalized view, in which God is available, and reveals himself, anywhere and everywhere’ (p. 149). 8 Cf. Tannehill, Narrative Unity, Vol. 2, p. 69.

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We now move from the spatial setting to the social one, where the main ‘cultural script’ influencing the narrative is that of honour/ shame.9 The social setting of this event plays an important part in the developing conflict between the apostles and the Jerusalem leadership. The council, having authority to judge the Judean population in religious matters, finds itself in a position of honour. The apostles, on the other hand, sit very low on the social pyramid of Israel. Not only are they followers of a crucified man, but they are also Galileans who are seen as ἄνθρωποι ἀγράμματοί … καὶ ἰδιῶται (Acts 4.13). Further, they have already violated the honour of the leadership by refusing to obey their previous command (4.18). It should not be surprising, therefore, that upon their further defiance the Jerusalem authorities wanted to murder them (5.29–32). It is only by the intervention of another character who was held in great honour, Gamaliel, that the apostles escaped death. 4.2.2

Characters

The second building-block of narrative is character. Although it has often been said that the description of personages in biblical narratives lacks some of the sophistication and introspection of modern literature,10 it is nevertheless true that in order correctly to grasp the meaning of the biblical text we must pay close attention to the function of its characters. There are several reasons for this. First, the characters and the plot are indissolubly linked: they are ‘like two riders on a seesaw: movement at either end affects the other and it is the interaction of both that makes the plot work’.11 Secondly, given 9 The phrase ‘cultural script’ comes from David B. Gowler, Host, Guest, Enemy and Friend: Portraits of the Pharisees in Luke and Acts (New York: Peter Lang, 1991), pp. 73–4, and Appendix C, and is part of his characterisation scheme. I shall have occasion to interact with his work more fully under the Characters section. 10 Robert Scholes and Robert Kellogg, The Nature of Narrative (New York: Oxford University Press, 1966), p. 166. But cf. Eric Auerbach, Mimesis: The Representation of Reality in Western Literature, trans. Willard R. Trask (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1953), pp. 3–23. In the case of the Gospels, for example, it has been indicated that the principal purpose of characters is to direct the reader to Jesus’ own character and message. For an example of this in John’s Gospel, see Alan Culpepper, Anatomy of the Fourth Gospel (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1983), p. 145. 11 The metaphor is that of Norman Perrin as stated in Powell, What is Narrative Criticism, p. 51. See also John A. Darr, On Character Building: The Reader and Rhetoric of Characterization in Luke–Acts (Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1992), p. 39: ‘Character and plot are interdependent, and both are essentials of narrative. Audiences “actualize” plot in terms of character and character in terms of plot.’

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the fact that in biblical narrative God’s evaluative point of view is overtly normative, characters who take a stand against the divine measure are automatically ‘bad’. Therefore, the implied reader is clearly exposed to a paradigm which he or she must not follow. Thirdly, as was briefly noted above, characters are often used as foils to God. For example, a character’s lack of mercy may be used to provide a powerful contrast to God’s fatherly mercy.12 Given their significance to the narrative, therefore, it is important that readers be able to discern the implied author’s point of view of characters. In his work on the Pharisees in Luke’s double work, David B. Gowler provides us with a taxonomy through which to understand an author’s means of characterisation. An author, he contends, has two ways of characterising: (1) direct definition and (2) indirect presentation.13 In the former, an explicit statement is made about the character directly by the narrator so that the reader does not need to use inference.14 In indirect presentation, the narrator characterises the players in the story through speech, action, external appearance, environment, and comparison/contrast.15 As opposed to direct definition, this mode of characterisation requires the reader to engage in cautious inference in order to round-up the persona of the character. Gowler argues that both in the Hebrew Bible and in Luke–Acts indirect presentation is the principal means of portraying characters.16 To this essentially literary classification for characterisation, Gowler adds insights from social anthropology rooted in ancient primary sources. The ‘cultural scripts’ are honour/shame, patron– client contract/limited good, purity rules, and kinship.17 Four characters appear to be the main personages in Acts 5.17–42: (1) the apostles, (2) the Jewish authorities, (3) ‘the people’, and (4) the

12

Compare the attitude of the Prodigal’s eldest brother to that of his father. Gowler, Host, Guest, Enemy and Friend, p. 72. According to Gowler, Host, Guest, Enemy, and Friend, p. 181, in the Gospel of Luke we can discern ‘three voices of absolute authority’. These are (1) the narrator, (2) Jesus, and (3) the heavenly voice. Although he does not provide a list for Acts, one may argue for (1) the narrator, (2) the risen Jesus, (3) the apostles, since they are endowed with the Holy Spirit, (4) the Holy Spirit, and (5) angelic messengers. 15 Ibid., pp. 72–3. 16 Ibid., pp. 116, 182. Gowler states that in the former it is through the means of speech that most indirect presentation is done. 17 Ibid., Appendix C. Most of these categories are covered under the Settings section. 13 14

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Pharisee Gamaliel. In what follows I examine what these characters contribute to the plot.18 4.2.2.1 The apostles Luke juxtaposes the apostles and Peter in the current event, thus presenting him as representative of the words and actions of the other apostles. There is no direct definition of the apostles in the current passage. Indirect presentation is accomplished by means of speech by other characters (v. 25), speech by the apostles themselves (vv. 29–32), and the speech of Gamaliel (vv. 35–9). Indirect presentation is further provided by the actions of the apostles (vv. 21, 40–2) and by contrast/ comparison (v. 32). The following portrait of the apostles emerges. First, they are characterised as fearlessly obedient to God rather than man. The speech of the τις in v. 25 states that the apostles were ἐν τῷ ἱερῷ ἐστῶτες καὶ διδάσκοντες τòν λαόν. This highlights the obedience of the apostles to the divine command as expressed through the angel in v. 20: πορεύεσθε καὶ σταθέντες λαλεῖτε ἐν τῷ ἱερῷ τῷ λαῷ πάντα τὰ ῥήματα τῆς ζωῆς ταύτης. In vv. 29–32, it is before the same Sanhedrin that had previously executed their messiah that the apostles refused to follow human orders; on the contrary, they blamed the Sanhedrin itself as responsible for the death of Jesus. In vv. 40–2 the apostles’ obedience is once again accentuated. After being beaten, they did not hide; rather, they ‘rejoiced that they were considered worthy to suffer dishonour for the sake of the name’ (v. 41) and faithfully continued to do precisely what they were twice prohibited to do by the authorities: πᾶσάν τε ἡμέραν ἐν τῷ ἱερῷ καὶ κατ’ οἶκον οὐκ ἐπαύοντο διδάσκοντες καὶ εὐαγγελιζόμενοι τòν Χριστόν, Ἰησοῦν (v. 42). The second description of the apostles comes through the mouth of Gamaliel. They are portrayed as belonging to a religious group whose leader has been killed. The end of Gamaliel’s speech opens up the 18 My statement here would assume that plot is superior to characters in that the latter serve as functionaries for the unfolding of the plot and not the other way around. In biblical narrative, when the character in question is God himself, it could be said that the plot is subservient. The same cannot be said when the characters are human (with the exception of Jesus). Nevertheless, cf. Timothy Wiarda, Peter in the Gospels: Pattern, Personality and Relationship (Tübingen: Mohr-Siebeck, 2000), pp. 2, 229, who cautiously suggests that in the case of Peter’s characterisation the Gospel narratives ‘do exhibit specific interest in Peter as a character’ (as opposed to the character of Peter used solely to direct the implied reader to Jesus). For characters’ relationship to plot in modern literary theory, see Gowler, Host, Guest, Enemy, and Friend, pp. 44–9.

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possibility that they are legitimate agents of God.19 I shall have more to say about this under the section on the speech of Gamaliel. In conclusion, primarily because of their undaunted obedience to God before the authorities, the image of the apostles is remarkably similar to that of Jesus.20 In fact, in their previous encounter with the Jewish authorities it is explicitly stated that the authorities recognised that the apostles σὺν τῷ Ἰησοῦ ἦσαν (4.13). The reader, by means of this use of synkrisis, is expected to reach the same conclusion in this episode. 4.2.2.2 The Jerusalem authorities Although the authorities are designated by different titles in this pericope (vv. 17, 21), they are presented as a single entity with various traits. By way of direct definition, the implied author makes the following overt descriptions. First, we are told in v. 17 that the authorities were ‘filled with jealousy’ at the apostles’ popularity. Secondly, he states that the temple police did not use violence in bringing the apostles back to the Sanhedrin because they were afraid of being stoned by the people (v. 26). Thirdly, he states that after the apostles’ response in vv. 29–32 the authorities wanted to kill them. Through direct definition, therefore, the implied author paints a portrait of the authorities as jealous, fearful, and homicidal. Indirect presentation of the Jewish authorities occurs through speech (vv. 24, 28), action (vv. 17–18, 40), environment (v. 27), and comparison/contrast (v. 26). In v. 24 we encounter indirect speech by the leaders, where they express bewilderment as to what to do in light of the apostles’ unexplained prison escape. In v. 28 the affirmation of the High Priest, once seen in light of what has transpired, emits an echo of powerlessness: ‘Did we not sternly command you to stop teaching in this name?’ With respect to action, the deeds of the authorities are pregnant with meaning. Thus in vv. 17–18 they imprisoned the apostles because of their jealousy and their inability to stop them without using force. In v. 40 their anger is visible as they beat the apostles prior to releasing them. Another means of indirect

See also John B. Weaver, Plots of Epiphany: Prison-Escape in Acts of the Apostles (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2004), p. 100. 20 On the spatial similarities of this event to Jesus’ trial, see §4.2.1. On further similarities between this trial of the apostles and that of Jesus, see Rudolf Pesch, Die Apostelgeschichte, 2 vols. (Zürich: Neukirchener Verlag, 1986), Vol. 1, p. 212. 19

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presentation is the spatial environment of the Jerusalem leaders. The final trait of the authorities to be gleaned from this event is that of cowardice. Through the technique of comparison/contrast, Luke mentions in v. 26 that the authorities were afraid of the people. The apostles, in contrast, exhibited no fear even towards the highest authorities of Israel. To summarise, it could be said that the characterisation of the Jerusalem authorities in this section is entirely negative. From the authoritative point of view of the implied author, they exhibit traits which are profoundly opposed to the fundamental values of the biblical tradition and of Jesus himself. They are jealous, violent, homicidal, fearful of man rather than God, and oppressive. These traits plunge them into confusion and powerlessness. 4.2.2.3 The people References to ‘the people’ (ὁ λαός) are few in this section. There are three verses where they are mentioned: 5.20, 26, and 34. Their characterisation is not nearly as pointed as the other groups in this pericope. Neither through direct definition nor through indirect presentation are their words or actions highlighted. Rather, as in the Gospel of Luke, they are ‘flat’ characters which are often used to provide foreground. They are sympathetic to the apostles, a trait that serves as protection for the latter (5.20), and they are willing to hear the apostles’ message. Thus, they are portrayed in a slightly positive light. However, our reading of ‘the people’ must also be informed by other co-texts where these characters can suddenly turn on the apostles. Thus, while the crowd can seem to be somewhat positively disposed toward Jesus,21 it nevertheless joins the elders and the scribes in attacking Stephen.22 This leads John Darr to state the following: ‘A holistic and sequential review of the narrative evidence confirms that the only consistent characteristic of the people in Luke–Acts is their inconsistency.’23

21

E.g. Lk. 6.17; 17.6, 29; 18.43; 20.26; 23.27. See Tannehill, Narrative Unity, Vol. 2, pp. 59–60, who also calls attention to the people’s negative change in attitude toward the Christians subsequent to Stephen’s death. 23 John A. Darr, ‘Irenic or Ironic? Another Look at Gamaliel’, in Literary Studies in Luke–Acts: Essays in Honor of Joseph B. Tyson, ed. Richard P. Thompson and Thomas E. Philips (Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1998), p. 134. 22

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4.2.2.4 Gamaliel The figure of Gamaliel receives the most direct definition in this episode. In introducing this character, Luke states his name, his sectarian affiliation, the subject of his teaching (the law), and his estimation before the people (v. 34). All these features, when seen in light of other co-texts, are rather negative. As Robert Gowler has indicated, Gamaliel’s affiliation with the Pharisees and his teaching of the law, not to mention the fact that he is part of the Sanhedrin, would have evoked adverse feelings on the part of readers who were familiar with the Gospel of Luke. For in that Gospel it was precisely the Pharisees, teachers of the law, and Sanhedrin who antagonised Jesus.24 The last aspect of the description in v. 34 (τίμιος παντὶ τῷ λαῷ) is the one that evokes the least adverse feelings. The reason is that on many occasions ‘the people’ are open to the message of Jesus and the apostles and can therefore serve to deter violence against the apostles. Nevertheless, as I had occasion to remark above, ‘the people’ are also fickle, failing to display firm allegiance to Jesus or his messengers. Being honoured by ‘the people’, therefore, is not a sufficiently strong statement to overturn the generally negative vision of the Pharisees: ‘As virtual paradigms of unreliability, the people can by no means establish any other character’s reliability.’25 Nevertheless, it must be mentioned that this negative portrait may be tempered by other places, particularly in the Gospel of Luke, where one or two Pharisees are friendly towards Jesus. Therefore, the door may be opened for the possibility that Gamaliel will turn out to be part of that trend. I shall have occasion to comment on this and its further impact on his character under the speech section. For now, it will be sufficient to note that Luke invests 24 Gowler, Host, Guest, Enemy, and Friend, pp. 276–7, cites Lk. 5.17 and 22.66–71 in support of this assertion. Tannehill, Narrative Unity, Vol. 2, p. 67, adds that whereas in Acts the Pharisees are seen as friendly toward the Christians, in the Gospel they are often portrayed as opponents of Jesus who nonetheless are not responsible for his death. C.K. Barrett, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Acts of the Apostles, 2 vols. (London: T&T Clark, 1994–1998), Vol. 1, p. 292, may provide the best description when he states that in the Gospel, Luke presents the Pharisees to be ‘more favourable (or less unfavourable?) to the Christians than the Sadducees … partly because they believed in resurrection and the Sadducees did not’. See also Darr, ‘Irenic or Ironic’, pp. 131–4. 25 Darr, ‘Irenic or Ironic’, p. 135. He further states, ‘the narrator’s note that Gamaliel was honored by the people does not establish Gamaliel as a reliable character, but rather explains why he carries weight in the Sanhedrin, which was sensitive to pressures from the populace (Acts 4:2, 21)’.

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him with particular significance as he is the only person in this episode to be introduced with a relatively lengthy direct definition. To conclude this section on characters, it could be said that in 5.17– 42 Luke is leading his readers to classify the characters under three different categories. First, there are those who resemble Jesus and are pro-Jesus, namely, the apostles. Their likeness to Jesus is stressed in several ways, among which their sacrificial obedience is primary. In this way, the implied author makes clear that the apostles are aligned with the normative point of view of the narrator as it has been voiced by Jesus and that therefore they are in favour of Jesus. In the second place, there are those who are not like Jesus and are also contra-Jesus. These are the Jerusalem authorities. Through their fear of the people and disobedience to God, they are portrayed as the opposite of Jesus. Further, the fact that they persecute the very messengers of Jesus makes clear that the authorities are against him. Lastly, there are those like ‘the people’ who, while apparently sympathetic to the message about Jesus, nevertheless do not become fully fledged disciples. By creating categories in which to place the characters of this narrative, Luke has intertwined the settings and the personages in such a way as to provide a dynamic and unified plot in which conflict is central. We now turn to the events that make up that plot. 4.2.3

Plot

The events of vv. 17–42 are as follows. The apostles are arrested and put in prison because of their defiance of the Sanhedrin’s previous command. However, they are released that same night by an ‘angel of the Lord’ who orders them to continue their teaching, which they faithfully do the following morning. That same morning the Sanhedrin is gathered to confront the apostles only to discover that the prisoners are missing and, to their great vexation, are actually back at the temple teaching the people. The apostles are then peacefully escorted before the Sanhedrin, where they give no indication of submitting to the former’s charge to stop teaching in the name of Jesus. In fact, quite the opposite is the case: the apostles blame the council for crucifying Jesus, who is no less than ἀρχηγòν καὶ σωτῆρα (5.31). Enraged by the apostles’ boldness, they wish to kill them. At this climactic point in the narrative Gamaliel presents his speech advocating the apostles’ release by an argument based on historical precedents. They are released after being beaten.

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Leaving the speech of Gamaliel aside for the moment, the principal point of vv. 17–33 can be said to be the inability of the Jerusalem authorities to stop the spread of the apostolic message. This thesis is advanced by Luke through his narration of the following three events: (1) the miraculous release from prison, (2) the confusion of the Sanhedrin, and (3) the boldness of the apostles. 4.2.3.1 The miraculous release from prison (vv. 17–20) The authorities, alarmed by the popularity of the apostles, decided to take action. ‘Being filled with jealousy’ (a theme that will also be used of hostile Jews in the Diaspora towards Paul, see 13.45), they ‘arrested the apostles’ and put them in prison for the duration of the night (v. 18). However, Luke indicates that through divine intervention the apostles were released and commanded to speak to the people in the temple. Although the above supernatural release no doubt accentuates the main point of the pericope, Luke’s emphasis is not on the miracle as such, but on the command to the apostles to continue their preaching.26 This is confirmed by the following two observations. First, in other episodes of supernatural prison release in Acts (12.6–11; 16.24–7), Luke records details which are not particularly necessary to move the main lines of the plot (e.g. the light in Peter’s cell or the hymnsinging of Paul and Silas). In the present case, on the other hand, a mere eleven (nondescript) words are employed to narrate the release, whereas much more detail and space is given to the angel’s command to preach. Secondly, the literary technique of duration may shed light on the narrator’s emphasis in this episode. Gérard Genette has called attention to the amount of time designated in a narrative, for example, three months (Story Time = st) in comparison to the amount of time devoted to the description of the event or the reporting of a dialogue, for example, two lines of text (Narrative Time = nt). If the nt is less than the st, it is called a Summary scene. In this case, the narrator devotes little time (nt) to what in the story world would have taken longer.27 This would appear to be the case in the rather brisk 26 See Jervell, Apostelgeschichte, p. 205, who states that the whole purpose of the liberation is the spread of the gospel. Cf. also Weaver, Plots of Epiphany, p. 104. 27 Gérard Genette, Narrative Discourse: An Essay in Method, trans. J. Lewin (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1980), pp. 93–9.

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description of the apostles’ release. The purpose of this device is to focus the attention of the reader on other parts of the narrative by quickly moving to a different scene.28 In addition, the author deflates the dramatic power of an episode by narrating it in Summary duration.29 4.2.3.2 The confusion of the Sanhedrin (vv. 22–6) The angelic intervention was the first signal which Luke sent his readers to intimate that the spread of the apostolic message could not be fully stopped. The current incident will add strength to this proposition. Luke accomplishes this primarily by means of humour. He brings out the humour of the event in the following ways. First, in describing those present at the council, he indulges in some exaggerated rhetoric. For example, v. 21 states that the high priest and ‘those with him’ called a session of the Sanhedrin. This phrase would have been enough to suggest that, given the persons involved, the meeting would be no ordinary one. However, Luke stretches the description by saying that also gathered were πᾶσαν τὴν γερουσίαν τῶν υἱῶν Ἰσραήλ.30 This solemn phrase in an already grave occasion adds power and humour to the situation: it is no less than such a distinguished assembly that will shortly be disgraced. To be sure, some commentators have stated that the conjunction καί appearing before the phrase is to be taken epexegetically, thus glossing the expression as follows: ‘the Sanhedrin, that is, the entire council of the sons of Israel’.31 Although this may well be the case, we should also see at work here Luke’s rhetorical imagination: ‘Luke uses [the titles] in combination for the sake of solemnity: he wants to emphasize the formality of the leaders’ rejection, and also their humiliation.’32

Cf. Tannehill, Narrative Unity, Vol. 2, p. 65. See Marguerat and Bourquin, Pour lire les récits bibliques, pp. 111–12. Cf. Ex 12.21. 31 For example, Barrett, Acts, Vol. 1, p. 285; F.F. Bruce, The Book of the Acts of the Apostles, rev. edn (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1988), pp. 170–1. Wilfried Eckey, Die Apostelgeschichte: Der Weg des Evangeliums von Jerusalem nach Rom, Teilband 1: Apg 1, 1–15, 35 (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 2000), p. 140, adds that by the epexegetic καί ‘Lukas erklärt dem nichtjüdischen Leser … in Analogie zum römischen Senat als Ältestenrat der Israeliten’. 32 Luke Timothy Johnson, The Acts of the Apostles (Collegeville, MN: The Liturgical Press, 1992), p. 97. Solemnity, of course, can very quickly turn into humour. See also Tannehill, Narrative Unity, Vol. 2, p. 65. 28 29 30

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The second manner in which Luke brings out the humour in the episode is again by his clever use of duration. Whereas the narration of the release from prison was done in a Summary manner, the current one is done in Pause fashion: the nt is ‘infinitely greater’ than the st.33 Luke is able to ‘stretch’ the scene in two ways. First, those who were sent to bring the apostles from the prison returned and gave the following detailed account of their observations: ‘We found the prison securely locked and the guards standing at the doors, but when we opened them, we found no one inside.’34 This lengthy description is quite a contrast to the very brisk depiction of the prison release. Luke, in fact, could have easily substituted the speech for shorter direct narrative. On the contrary, he allows these characters to speak in order to lengthen the narrative and thus have the council look the more foolish and comic.35 Secondly, just as the council was pondering this mystery and wondering what would become of the entire situation, another unnamed character (τις) walked into the Sanhedrin and, in seemingly innocent fashion, reported words which would have made the council all the angrier: ‘Look, the men whom you put in prison are standing in the temple and teaching the people!’ (v. 25). Not only is this similar to the previous verse, but the introduction of yet another character on the heels of the previous report, and one who has witnessed the apostles’ teaching at the temple, gives a dramatic flavour to the episode.36 The introduction of this herald, therefore, lengthens the duration of the episode. In this fashion Luke leads his audience to grasp the point of this story: even the most powerful and distinguished Jewish authorities are not able to stop the spread of the word. In fact, while they sit in the Sanhedrin preparing to pass judgement on the apostles, these are actually doing the very thing which was forbidden: announcing the gospel. 4.2.3.3 The boldness of the apostles (vv. 27–33) The third means by which Luke moves forward his thought, viz. the impossibility of stopping the spread of the apostolic message, is his See Genette, Narrative Discourse, pp. 99–106. Notice the emphatic prepositional phrase: they found the jail closed ἐν πάσῃ ἀσφαλείᾳ (v. 23). This of course adds to the humour. 35 Thus also Eckey, Apostelgeschichte, Vol. 1, p. 140; Tannehill, Narrative Unity, Vol. 2, pp. 65–6. 36 See Jerry Camery-Hoggat, Irony in Mark’s Gospel: Text and Subtext (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), p. 44. 33 34

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emphasis on the apostles’ entrenched refusal to obey the Sanhedrin. We read in v. 27 that the apostles were brought back to the council where they were once again questioned by the high priest. The anger sweltering inside the high priest is brought out by the grammatical construction παραγγελίᾳ παρηγγείλαμεν ὑμῖν μὴ διδάσκειν ἐπὶ τῷ ὀνόματι τούτῳ.37 The apostles, however, were not at all intimidated by this rebuke; rather, being led by Peter, they offered a rapid summary of the kerygma, emphasising the paradoxical truth that the Jerusalem leadership had hung on a tree the very captain and saviour of Israel (v. 31). Further, they strongly implied that, whereas they themselves were recipients of the Holy Spirit, the leadership was not. This is brought out by Peter’s use of the term πειθαρχέω in vv. 29 and 32. In v. 29 he states that by preaching Jesus, the apostles were obedient to God rather than men (πειθαρχεῖν δεῖ θεῷ μᾶλλον ἢ ἀνθρώποις); and in v. 32 he states that God gives the Spirit to those who obey him (τò πνεῦμα τò ἅγιον ὃ ἔδωκεν ὁ θεòς τοῖς πειθαρχοῦσιν αὐτῷ). The syllogism, then, follows along these lines: ‘God gives the Spirit to those who obey him; we obey him (since we proclaim Jesus); therefore we have the Spirit.’ The embarrassing insinuation is that the Jerusalem authorities are devoid of the Spirit precisely because they refuse to proclaim Jesus and, in fact, are even violently attempting to mute any testimony about him.38 This last suggestion proved to be the final piece of humiliation in what had already been an embarrassing day for the authorities: it is no wonder, then, that v. 33 states that they were wanting to murder the apostles. I have suggested that the narration of the events in this episode (vv. 17–33) serves the purpose of reassuring Luke’s audience that the spread of the apostolic message could not be thwarted by any opposition. On the contrary, by recounting the miraculous release of the apostles from jail, the utter helplessness and humiliation of the Sanhedrin, and the Spirit-empowered boldness of the apostles, Luke has attempted to demonstrate that the programmatic statement of the risen Jesus in 1.8 was in the process of becoming reality. In fact, it 37

Two observations are necessary here, one textual and one grammatical. Textually, several manuscripts make this statement a question by including οὐ at the beginning of the sentence (the uncials ‫א‬2, D, and E). The best manuscript support, however, excludes the negative particle thus making the statement a declaration (p74, ‫*א‬, A, B). Grammatically, the pairing of two cognate terms, one in the noun and the other in verbal form, is a Semitic construction meant to stress a particular statement (thus the majority of commentators). This may be an example of prosopopoeia or evidence of an underlying Semitic source. 38 Cf. also Jervell, Apostelgeschichte, p. 209.

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could be stated that 5.17–42 is paradigmatic of the event-cycle of the entire book of Acts: the church proclaims the word, opposition rises to stop the dissemination of that word, but God intervenes to help in the continuation of the propagation of the gospel. His servants undoubtedly suffer in the process, but the message continues to spread39 (cf. 12.1–24; 15.1–31 [where the opposition came from the inside]; 16.16–40; 19.11–40; 21.27–22.21; 26.1–29; 27.13–28.31). This sentiment of growth despite (and even because of) persecution seems to have been a firm belief of the early church (cf. especially Phil. 1.12–18 and 2 Tim. 2.9). Returning to the current passage, the apostles found themselves in a perilous position: they had infuriated the Sanhedrin to such a point that the latter wanted to kill them. It is at this height of the conflict that Gamaliel delivered his timely speech. 4.2.4

The speech

Having looked at the narrative block in order better to ascertain the thrust and function of the speech, it is now time to examine the speech itself. In describing the inner disposition of the members of the Sanhedrin after hearing the apostles’ refusal to follow their orders, Luke employs the very strong verb διεπρίοντο (v. 33). The term literally means ‘to saw asunder’.40 Metaphorically, the idea is that of being seized by a formidable emotion which has hostile ends in purpose. The main question addressed by the speech, therefore, is the fate of the apostles at the hands of this enraged assembly. That is, after the council has reached that point where they want to kill the apostles,41 Gamaliel’s counsel will have to do with either going ahead with this violent impulse or suggesting a different course.42

39 In the case of Stephen, for example, it could be said that it was because of the ensuing persecution that the gospel was able to spread: 8.1. See Scott Cunningham, ‘Through Many Tribulations’: The Theology of Persecution in Luke–Acts (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997), pp. 186–294. 40 See Barrett, Acts, Vol. 1, p. 291, for references. The term is only used once more in the NT in Acts 7.54 of the Jewish leaders’ anger toward Stephen, where the context is remarkably similar to 5.33. 41 Reading the imperfect ἐβούλοντο, ‘they were wishing’, in v. 33, rather than ἐβουλεύοντο, ‘they were planning’. Manuscript support for the former reading includes the uncials A and B. The difference in sense may not be great. 42 See also Kennedy, New Testament Interpretation, p. 120.

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The rhetorical situation normally dictated the type of discourse that the speaker would deliver. Consequently, the speaker had to be able to discern the nature of the issues raised in an event in order to formulate his speech. As we saw above, the rhetorical situation that Gamaliel had to address was decidedly future oriented. In such a circumstance the standard speech would be deliberative. Such is the case with the speech of Gamaliel.43 According to the canons of ancient rhetoric, in the first part of a deliberative speech the orator should have strived to put the audience in a favourable disposition toward himself.44 Nevertheless, Aristotle had also stated that one of the best ways to secure a favourable hearing was by the speaker’s possession of virtue.45 In the case of the speech of Gamaliel, there would, at first sight, appear to be no proper exordium, unless one is willing to say that either the initial address, Ἄνδρες Ἰσραηλῖται, or the opening command, προσέχετε ἑαυτοῖς ἐπὶ τοῖς ἀνθρώποις τούτοις τί μέλλετε πράσσειν, could serve as a proem.46 Given the council’s ready ear for Gamaliel, it would appear that the Pharisee already commanded the respect of the Sanhedrin and therefore did not need to engage in flattery to gain their goodwill. In any case, ancient rhetorical theory did not place as much weight on the exordia of deliberative speeches as it did on those of a forensic nature.47 The injunction at the beginning of the speech is straightforward, seeking to have a calming effect on a frenzied assembly. The council is to ‘watch’ itself, with respect to what they ‘are about to do to these men’. By introducing his speech in this manner, Gamaliel has slightly pulled back the curtain, allowing the assembly to see a glimpse of his Thus also Kennedy, New Testament Interpretation, p. 121. See Aristotle, Rh. 3.14.7. The reference in Aristotle is to forensic speeches; however, he states in 3.14.12 that deliberative ‘borrows its exordia from forensic’ and so the same advice may apply to deliberative. See also Quintilian, Inst. Or. 3.8.6–9. 45 Rh. 2.1.5–7 (in addition to ‘sense’ and ‘goodwill’). Cf. Quintilian, Inst. Or. 3.8.13: ‘But the most important aspect of giving advice is the speaker’s own authority. Anyone who wants everybody to trust his judgment on what is expedient and honourable must be, and be thought to be, both very wise and very good.’ 46 As does Kennedy, New Testament Interpretation, p. 120, with respect to the command προσέχετε. He is apparently followed by Soards, The Speeches, p. 53. 47 Quintilian, Inst. Or. 3.8.10, states, concerning the use of proems in deliberative speeches, ‘even when we have a Prooemium, we shall have to be content with a short one, just a sort of introductory heading’. He may have been following Aristotle, Rh. 3.14.12: ‘Such are the reasons for the exordia [to remove prejudice]; or else they merely serve the purpose of ornament, since their absence makes the speech appear offhand. For such is the encomium on the Eleans, in which Gorgias, without any preliminary sparring or movements, starts off at once, “Elis, happy city”.’ 43 44

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counsel. It is a warning which he will support through historical examples in vv. 36–7 and then openly exhort in vv. 38–9. The instruction of v. 35, therefore, functions as a restrained proposition.48 The causal γάρ introducing v. 36 tells us that Gamaliel is about to bring proof to corroborate the proposition made in v. 35. The examples he marshals are historical, a fact which is signalled by the temporal phrase πρò … τούτων τῶν ἡμερῶν. The manuals of ancient rhetoric suggested the use of historical examples to substantiate one’s proposition.49 The first of these examples is that of the Jewish charlatan Theudas, who is said to have arisen ‘claiming to be somebody’ (v. 36) (probably a prophet). His movement appeared to have fomented some excitement as we are told that about ‘four hundred’ men joined him. Nevertheless, according to Gamaliel, history showed that his impact was not greatly significant since he was killed and ‘all who followed him were dispersed and disappeared’. If this Theudas is the same man who is spoken of by Josephus (in which case Luke’s dating would be incorrect), then we are able, by comparing the two, to fill out a possible historical picture.50 Josephus indicates that Theudas was an impostor claiming to be a prophet. He was able to persuade a large number of people to follow him, promising that he would be able to part the river Jordan. However, the cavalry sent by the procurator Fadus attacked Theudas and his followers, and many were killed. Theudas himself was beheaded (Josephus, Ant. 20.97–8). Whether or not this is the Theudas to whom Gamaliel is referring, his proof from 48 Cf. also Soards, The Speeches, p. 54. Charles Talbert, Reading Acts, p. 70, offers an A B B′ A′ chiastic structure: A – v. 35: Be careful; B – v. 36: Remember Theudas; B′ – v. 37: Remember Judas; A′ – vv. 38–9: Be cautious. This pattern would make sense coming from the mouth of the Jew Gamaliel: Luke often engages in prosopopoeia. This could also indicate that Luke may have been drawing on a source here. 49 Quintilian, Inst. Or. 3.8.66 states: ‘Almost everyone rightly agrees that the use of examples is particularly appropriate to [deliberative] speech, because the future often seems to reflect the past, and experience can be regarded as evidence supporting theoretical reasoning.’ Cf. also 5.11.1–2, more than likely following Aristotle. It should also be said that this technique is used in the OT: see Josh. 24.1–13. 50 Bruce, Acts, p. 176, suggests that the Theudas to which Gamaliel refers was different from the one mentioned by Josephus. He gives three reasons for this conclusion: first, Luke proves to be a trustworthy historian in other places (therefore, this must be a different person since otherwise Luke would be mistaken); secondly, Theudas was a very common name; and third, there were many uprisings (as Josephus himself chronicled) after the death of Herod. Barrett, Acts, Vol. 1, p. 294, noting that the mss. D and p have the variant διελύθη αὐτòς δι’ ἑαυτοῦ (in which case the meaning would be that Theudas committed suicide), asks whether this is evidence for the existence of two Theudases. See further above.

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example would have been persuasive from a rhetorical perspective: the movement, he asserts, ἐγένοντο εἰς οὐδέν. The second historical example is that of Judas the Galilean (v. 37) who came after Theudas.51 Gamaliel provides a further chronological marker by stating that Judas rose up ‘at the time of the census’.52 Like Theudas prior to him, Judas was also able to garner a following. Josephus provides further details on Judas. He states that he taught a ‘fourth philosophy’ of which the main goal was liberty from any foreign rulers (Josephus, Ant. 18.9, 23–4). Although Josephus does not state that Judas was killed, Gamaliel positively asserts it: κἀκεῖνος ἀπώλετο. Nevertheless, the ideals that he taught ‘lived on, to be vigorously defended later by the party of the Zealots’.53 His death also meant the disbandment of his followers. Before reflecting on the rhetorical effect of these examples, I must comment on the historical crux raised by the mention of Theudas and Judas. As briefly stated above, unless one is willing to argue for the existence of two Theudases who led similar revolutionary movements, the evidence points to a discrepancy between Luke and Josephus. The contradiction would be twofold: (1) the Theudas mentioned in Josephus appeared in approximately 44 CE, a date which is much too late to allow for Gamaliel to have uttered this speech.54 (2) According to Josephus, Judas the Galilean rose up prior to Theudas. Luke, on the other hand, puts him on the scene after Theudas. Scholars have attempted to explain these discrepancies in the following ways. First, there are those who state that Luke was guilty of anachronism and was thus incorrect.55 Secondly, there are those who state that the error did not necessarily come from Luke’s sources, but rather his reading of Josephus: he misread the accounts and thus juxtaposed their sequence.56 Thirdly, Bruce and Marshall have posited that – given the popularity of the name Theudas and the numerous uprisings after Herod’s death – it is not unreasonable to suppose 51 μετὰ τοῦτον. For Calvin’s translation of this phrase as ‘over and above’ or ‘besides’, see Bruce, Acts, p. 177. 52 Following Josephus, Ant. 17.355, a reference to the census of Quirinius. 53 Bruce, Acts, p. 177. Cf. Barrett, Acts, Vol. 1, p. 294. 54 Conzelmann, Acts, p. 42; Haenchen, Acts, pp. 252, 257. 55 Thus Conzelmann, Acts, p. 42; Haenchen, Acts, p. 252, who – while not exonerating Luke – states that the sources he received were corrupt: ‘the traditions reaching him had left him in utter confusion where chronology was concerned’ (p. 257). This leads Haenchen to conclude that the entire speech was a fabrication of Luke. 56 Thus Hans Hinrich Wendt, Die Apostelgeschichte, 9th edn (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1913), p. 43.

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that Josephus and Gamaliel were speaking of two different characters.57 Lastly, Ben Witherington has recently made the suggestion that biblical scholars have too quickly assumed Josephus’ historical accuracy while treating Luke as an unreliable historian. In fact, states Witherington, from different aspects of Josephus’ works – particularly his speeches – it could be argued that he may after all not be as reliable as Luke.58 By way of evaluation, option 2 can be dismissed without much difficulty: not only is Josephus’ account very straightforward, but it is also highly unlikely that Luke was acquainted with the work of Josephus, published as it was in the latter part of the first century. Options 1 and 3 are possible.59 Witherington’s suggestion has some merit, but it is weakened in this particular case by the fact that Josephus’ references to Judas and Theudas are not presented through the vehicle of direct speech (where Josephus is notorious for historical embellishments). Returning to the intended effect of the proof upon his hearers, Gamaliel anticipates his final exhortation in v. 38 by citing these historical examples. He offers historical evidence suggesting that if a movement is man-driven it will come to nought. Underlying this basic assumption is the Jewish theological/historiographic conviction that God is master of history and that he guides it according to his will. In this respect, then, Eckey may be right in stating that the passives used in vv. 36–7 are to be taken as divine passives, in the sense that it was God who brought the end of both Theudas and Judas.60 Gamaliel has prepared the way for his powerful conclusion. The Greco-Roman rhetorical treatises advised that at the conclusion of a speech the orator should above all attempt to arouse the 57 Bruce, Acts, p. 176; Marshall, Acts, pp. 122–3. Barrett, Acts, Vol. 1, p. 296, flirts with this explanation but at the end states that, since Luke composed the speech, it is more probable that he made a mistake. 58 Witherington, Acts, pp. 225–9, following Cohen, Josephus in Galilee and Rome. 59 Although some of the arguments for option 1 are somewhat speculative. As when Jeffrey A. Trumbower, ‘The Historical Jesus and the Speech of Gamaliel (Acts 5:35– 39)’, NTS 39 (1993): 502–3 states: ‘In addition, no Christian source could possibly have remembered the speech, since Luke tells us the Christians were put out of the room!’ Not only is this conjectural, but we also read in Acts 6.7 that ‘many of the priests were obedient to the faith’. If the majority of the priests were of the Sadduceean party, then Luke could have received the content of the speech from them. 60 Eckey, Apostelgeschichte, Vol. 1, p. 145, ‘Gamaliel zeigt das Ende der beiden in passivischer Formulierung (passivum divinum) an. Seine Hörer sollen verstehen, daß Gott als Herr der Geschichte gehandelt hat. Um Gottes Geschichtsmacht geht es auch in der abschließenden Mahnung.’

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emotions of his hearers.61 Gamaliel accomplishes this by the tone of his final exhortation and by a fearful hypothesis suggested at the end. Verse 38 begins with the phrase καὶ τὰ νῦν λέγω ὑμῖν. This phrase indicates that Gamaliel is about to draw the most important inference from the entire speech.62 He states: ‘Keep away from these men and let them alone’! The two imperatives employed here, ἀπόστητε … ἄφετε share the same semantic domain, the point thus being enforced: ‘do not molest the Christians!’63 The enthymeme that follows, as introduced by causal ὅτι, is a memorable one: ‘if this counsel or this work is of men, it will be overthrown; but if it is of God, you will not be able to overthrow them, lest you may be found fighting against God’ (38b–39). The phrase demands three comments about its historical plausibility, its grammatical construction, and its possible relation to Euripides’ Bacchae. First, historically, given the description of Gamaliel as a Pharisee, was it likely that a member of this party would have uttered these words? In other words, does the speech fit with the person uttering it? Agreeing with most commentators that the Gamaliel in question is Rabban Gamaliel the Elder, it is not unlikely that he would have made the above statement. Barrett (and most commentators) refers to a similar maxim by R. Johanan the Sandalmaker who, in approximately 140–165 CE, had stated: ‘Any assembling together that is for the sake of Heaven shall in the end be established, but any that is not for the sake of Heaven shall not in the end be established.’64 Grammatically, scholars have pointed to the mood shift from the subjunctive to the indicative in vv. 38–9. Verse 38 indicates, ὅτι ἐὰν ᾖ ἐξ ἀνθρώπων ἡ βουλὴ αὕτη ἢ τò ἔργον τοῦτο, καταλυθήσεται. The use of ἐάν plus the subjunctive in the protasis, it is argued, would indicate that Gamaliel’s attitude to this possibility was negative: ‘If this is from men (but it might not be) it will be destroyed.’ On the other hand, v. 39 employs εἰ plus the indicative in the protasis, εἰ δὲ ἐκ θεοῦ ἐστιν, οὐ δυνήσεσθε καταλῦσαι αὐτούς, which would imply that Gamaliel takes this possibility as the real one. However, 61 E.g. Cicero, De or. 276.311, 332 (speaking of forensic oratory, but applicable also to deliberative). 62 Thus also Barrett, Acts, Vol. 1, p. 296; Haenchen, Acts, p. 253. 63 The phrase is Haenchen’s, Acts, p. 253. 64 As quoted in Barrett, Acts, Vol. 1, p. 297. Cf. also Haenchen, Acts, p. 253, n. 2. Peter J. Tomson, ‘If this Be from Heaven …’ Jesus and the New Testament Authors in their Relationship to Judaism (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2001), pp. 421–2 takes the line to mean that Luke was familiar with a Hillelite tradition.

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extracting so much from this grammatical construction is not advisable; it is better to account for the shift in moods as simple stylistic variation and derive Gamaliel’s opinion of the source of the movement from the context.65 The third observation to be made concerns the term θεομάχοι. In a recent work on prison escapes in Luke–Acts, John Weaver has made a persuasive argument to the effect that behind the term stands a literary pool of Greek mythology (particularly the Dionysian myth) that had permeated Mediterranean culture. He notes that the term appears across a spectrum of literary genres in ancient literature (e.g. philosophy, history) in which the context is always one of validation of a persecuted group vis-à-vis higher authorities who are labelled θεομάχοι. To readers aware of this Mediterranean cultural script, the use of the term by Gamaliel would have suggested that the apostles were legitimate agents of the divine (partly suggested already by the prison deliverance) and that the Jewish authorities were acting against God. Weaver states: [T]he trial scene and Gamaliel’s speech in Acts 5 are seen to operate in synergy with the prison-escape, contributing to Luke’s conventional portrayal of the early church’s legitimacy within Jerusalem. Thus filtered through ancient patterns of cult validation and beliefs about enemies of the god(s), the miraculous prison-escape and mention of ‘godfighting’ in Acts 5 would have induced Luke’s ancient readers to draw a set of formulaic conclusions about the character of the Jerusalem authorities, the apostles, and the Jerusalem church as a whole.66 Gamaliel’s statement thus suggested that, if the movement proved to be from God, the council would be fighting against the God they claimed to be defending. This concept of doing battle against God must have brought frightful images to the minds of these Jews; Pharaoh and Nebuchadnezzar had tried to fight against God and they ended up (Pharaoh in particular) utterly destroyed: surely they would not want to follow their examples.67 The speech was effective. 65 One wonders if such fine distinctions between the subjunctive and indicative in the protases of conditional sentences still held in Hellenistic times. In the NT, see 1 Cor. 16.6 and 1 Jn 3.20, where both conditions, although using the subjunctive, seem very close to implying reality. 66 Weaver, Plots of Epiphany, pp. 143–4. 67 Josephus mentions other ‘godfighters’ in Ant. 14.310.

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Verse 39 unceremoniously states that ‘they were persuaded by him’. To be sure, we are told in v. 40 that they beat the disciples and charged them again not to speak in the name of Jesus. Nevertheless, their lives were spared and they continued propagating the gospel (v. 42). 4.3

The function of the speech

One of the significant conclusions to be drawn from Gamaliel’s speech, and one which has been noticed by numerous scholars, is its apparent apologetic thrust. Jeffrey Trumbower, for example, states that for Luke, ‘Jesus was not just another sign-prophet or political revolutionary. He was superior to Theudas and Judas the Galilean because, unlike their movements, his movement continued to thrive after the removal of its leaders.’ And again, ‘Thus, Luke can further assert, through his character Gamaliel, that “if this work is from God, you cannot destroy it”. Obviously for Luke, Christianity is from God, and the proof is in the fact that, not only was it not destroyed, but it is thriving!’68 While I would deem this conclusion correct, it seems to me that the means through which it is reached lacks literary nuance and thus its credibility may be jeopardised. According to Trumbower (and others such as Conzelmann, Fitzmyer, and Haenchen69), Luke, through Gamaliel, was asserting the legitimacy of Christianity by his affirmation that, unlike other movements, Christianity had thrived after its founder’s death. The problem with this view, and one which has been noted by Haenchen and Bruce, is that Judas’ movement also continued to thrive for some time after the death of its founder, before eventually evolving into a ‘Fourth Philosophy’. In that case, either Luke did not have his history correct or he simply suppressed it for the purpose of his own apologetic agenda.70 The point of the Gamaliel speech, however, is that Christianity may prove to be from God if it stands the test of time. At the point when the events narrated in Acts 5.17–42 were purported to have occurred, it could not have been more than, say, two years since the execution of Jesus. Therefore, even though the number of Christians had grown, the movement had not yet stood the test of Trumbower, ‘The Historical Jesus and the Speech of Gamaliel’, pp. 503, 504. Conzelmann, Acts, p. 43; Joseph A. Fitzmyer, The Acts of the Apostles: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (New York: Doubleday, 1998), p. 333; Haenchen, Acts, pp. 256–8. 70 As Haenchen would in fact assert, Acts, p. 258. Another possible option is that Luke himself may have constructed a poor argument. 68 69

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time, and therefore a wait-and-see approach was advocated: this is precisely Gamaliel’s point. If one wants to argue that the speech of Gamaliel is apologetic, then one must follow the hint provided by Kennedy when he states that the statement made by Gamaliel in vv. 38–9 must have been significant for ‘Luke’s Christian audience …’;71 and this brings us to dramatic irony. In the Introduction to this project I had occasion to explain the way dramatic irony works. I mentioned that, in essence, dramatic irony occurs when a dialogue or action yields double significance. On the one hand, there are the characters in the story, who, by virtue of being restricted by time (they are ‘in’ the story) can only know what has been stated or what has happened to a particular point in the narrative. On the other hand, there are the audience or readers, who, by removal of time, are aware of the entire plot: ‘a story is told in such a way that its plot structures yield two levels of significance. The storyteller or dramatist may take special care to provide the spectator with clues which suggest that there are dimensions of meaning which are shielded from the story’s characters.’72 In short, dramatic irony possesses the following three components: double-layered significance, dissonance between the two levels of significance, and a measure of innocence on the part of the actant of the irony. Does the speech of Gamaliel evince these three components? The first element, double-layered significance, is detectable. Gamaliel makes the following statement in vv. 38–9: ‘if this plan or this undertaking is of human origin, it will fail; but if it is of God, you will not be able to overthrow them – in that case you may even be found fighting against God!’ To the rest of the Sanhedrin hearing these words, the message is conveyed as a mere, perhaps far off, possibility: ‘let us be cautious because there is a chance that this undertaking might turn out to be divine and we might be judged’. What Gamaliel himself believes about the matter can be gauged by the two examples he marshals to compare to the Jesus movement, namely Judas and Theudas: both were illegitimate and both failed. It is thus incorrect to conclude that Gamaliel was on the side of the apostles or that he was friendly towards them.73 To the Christian readers/hearers of Acts, on the other hand, the words of Gamaliel may very well have Kennedy, New Testament Interpretation, p. 121 (emphasis added). Camery-Hoggat, Irony in Mark’s Gospel, p. 61. 73 A point well appreciated by Richard P. Thompson, ‘Believers and Religious Leaders in Jerusalem: Contrasting Portraits of Jews in Acts 1–7’, in Literary Studies in Luke–Acts, pp. 327–44. He states concerning Gamaliel’s speech, ‘Here, the narrator 71 72

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conveyed the more profound message that the Christian movement was in fact from God (see further below). The existence of the other two components of dramatic irony may be probed by noting Daniel Marguerat’s astute question concerning the feasibility of an ironic reading of Gamaliel’s speech, that is, that the apostolic movement may be divine: ‘Mais quelle instance permet de vérifier si l’œuvre des Apôtres est bien “de Dieu ?”’74 In other words, how does the narrator anchor the deeper significance of Gamaliel’s ‘prophetic’ comments? Marguerat provides the following answer: ‘Le récit. Seul le récit de leurs faits et gestes permet de vérifier que leur œuvre ne disparaît pas, et c’est bien pourquoi Luc lie indissociablement l’exposé des desseins de Dieu et la vie des témoins.’75 But we must proceed with caution here, since we previously saw that Gamaliel’s principal point was related to the endurance of the movement in time. We may thus supplement Marguerat’s observation by saying that the way the ironic reading could be verified is if the test of time is demonstrated in the narrative itself. The book of Acts closes with Paul as a witness of Christ while in custody at Rome. Although there is debate about the precise chronology of Acts, it is reasonable to conclude that at least twenty to thirty years had transpired from the time the speech of Gamaliel had been uttered to the point where Paul reached Rome. Therefore, for readers who were familiar with the whole of Acts and the endurance of time and unabated growth of the Christian movement described therein, Gamaliel’s statement was a challenge that had answered itself. This was thus proof that the Pharisee had unwittingly said more than he knew (victim: the third element of dramatic irony) and had affirmed, ironically, that the movement had divine roots (dissonance: the second component of dramatic irony). In short, because of the audience’s chronological and spatial privileged position, the speech of Gamaliel would have been appraised as a dramatic ironic phenomenon whereby the Pharisee, unbeknown to him, had actually affirmed the divine legitimacy of the Jesus movement. Thus far in our examination of dramatic irony in the speech of Gamaliel we have concentrated on the verbal plane of the irony. That surprisingly places information on the lips of an unreliable character – information to assist the reader in evaluating the actions of both the believers and their antagonists’ (p. 341). 74 Daniel Marguerat, ‘Le Dieu du livre des Actes’, in L’évangile exploré: Mélanges offerts à Simon Légasse, ed. Alain Marchadour (Paris: Les Éditions du Cerf, 1996), p. 311. 75 Ibid., pp. 311–12.

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is, our focus has been on dramatic ironic statements. However, I also pointed out in the Introduction to this work that dramatic irony can take place in relation to actions. To be more precise, the speech of a subject can bring about results which he or she did not intend but which the audience can readily detect as ironic.76 This form of dramatic irony is analogous to that crucial feature of Greek literature where a reversal of fortune is brought about by the gods despite the characters’ efforts to avoid that very fortune (e.g. Croesus in Herodotus, among numerous others). The results brought about by Gamaliel’s statements are also ironic. His own motive in encouraging the liberation of the apostles, as I pointed out above, was the desire to avert God’s condemnation in the event that the apostolic movement would turn out to be from God. However, we read in 5.42 that the result of the deliverance effected by Gamaliel was the following: ‘Everyday in the temple and in each home [the apostles] did not cease teaching and proclaiming that Jesus is the Christ.’ Thus, while Gamaliel’s intention was the avoidance of divine retribution (a point which is confirmed by the use of θεομάχοι), the result was the further spread of the very gospel which the Sanhedrin had attempted to thwart in the first place. Again we see the criteria for dramatic irony being met: the speech-act of Gamaliel is fully realised by the audience who, aware of the plot, knows that he, unwittingly, was bringing about a result which he did not intend. Having thus observed how dramatic irony functions in the speech of Gamaliel, we may now return to the question of apologetics, since several scholars have considered the speech an example of such.77 If the discourse, through irony, affirms that Christianity is truly from God, what kind of apologetic scenario may it imply? Loveday Alexander has offered a broad classification of five possible types of apologetic readings which can be applied to the book of Acts: (1) Acts as an apologia of inner church polemic, (2) Acts as an apologia of self-defence vis-à-vis Judaism, (3) Acts as propaganda/ evangelism addressed primarily to Greeks, (4) Acts as an apologia of self-defence in relation to Rome, and (5) Acts as an apologia for

76 In this respect the ironic speech begins to display features of speech-act or performative language, where words do not just describe but bring about results. 77 E.g. Conzelmann, Acts, p. 43: ‘What Gamaliel proposes is the apologetic plan of Luke.’ Conzelmann is followed by Gottfried Schille, Die Apostelgeschichte des Lukas, 2nd edn (Berlin: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 1984), p. 164. See also Fitzmyer, Acts, p. 333; Trumbower, ‘The Historical Jesus and the Speech of Gamaliel’, pp. 503, 504.

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insiders for the purpose of legitimation/self-definition.78 In regard to the speech of Gamaliel, types 1, 3, and 4 may be discarded: the assertion that Christianity was divine would not have necessarily responded to the kinds of situations envisioned by these types. Would the message of the speech fit well with type 2? It could be argued that it would have constituted a potent statement in an apologetic towards Judaism: no less than one of their most influential sages had stated, ironically, that Christianity was from God. But it is precisely the dramatic ironic component which would make it so difficult to employ the speech of Gamaliel as an apologia for outsiders. The reason is that an author’s weaving of dramatic irony into the texture of a narrative implies that he or she has a vision of truth that is more accurate than someone else’s. I have spoken of the twostorey framework of irony in which the author gently prompts the audience to discard the ostensible meaning apparent to the characters and adopt a meaning which is deeper and authoritative. To construct irony, therefore, is to make an epistemological assertion. It is to say that new horizons of reality have opened up to which the author is privileged. A dramatic ironic vision of events therefore presupposes historiographic authority on the part of the writer. In addition, since irony is to a certain extent reader-dependent, the audience must trust in the ‘prophetic’ insights of the author: If the reader of a narrative is to have any confidence in making the leap to higher, ironic levels of meaning, there must be a sense that whatever clues the author has given toward irony are trustworthy. We must find it believable that the ‘lower’ structure of meaning as portrayed is truly undesirable and that the ‘higher’ structure to which we are invited is sound. We must have confidence that the shape of the narrative world is accurately conveyed, that characters and events have been presented ‘as they are’.79 Herein rests the problem of suggesting that a dramatic ironic speech or event (such as Gamaliel’s) may provide apologetic material to persuade an outsider. An outsider, by definition, is one who does not hold to the hermeneutics and values of an opposing community. Such a person, if confronted with the ironic dimensions of the speech Alexander, ‘The Acts of the Apostles as an Apologetic Text’, pp. 16–19. Paul D. Duke, Irony in the Fourth Gospel (Atlanta, GA: John Knox Press, 1985), p. 29. 78 79

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of Gamaliel, might have simply countered that, in fact, the Pharisee had never proclaimed the legitimacy of the Christians. Rather, our imaginary outsider might have said, it was the author who had constructed a narrative that had opened up the possibilities of deeper significance; the author manipulated the data so that his own theological/historiographic vision might dominate. From these observations, I would thus contend that dramatic irony as an apologetic tool may be most effective when addressed to those who already have embraced the vision of its author. Thus, although not quite an apologia of legitimation/self-definition, the speech of Gamaliel may come closest to type 5 insofar as it is aimed at insiders. The purpose of the implied author in bringing to light the ironies of Gamaliel’s speech and speech-act may have been to hearten the believing community. More specifically, the community may have been encouraged to view itself as a truly divine society (‘If this is from God, you will not be able to destroy them’). In addition, through the dramatic ironic situation, the community may have been reminded of God’s superintendence over the events surrounding the young church. It would remind the readers that, even within the claws of the enemy (i.e. the Sanhedrin), God was sufficiently powerful to raise, from the ranks of the enemy itself, someone who would inadvertently aid in the movement of the church’s gospel preaching (5.42). Ultimately, therefore, this is an ‘apologetic’ of edification: ‘Luke shows that apologetic is related to edification. He includes not merely polemic against others, nor solely a defence of Christianity, but in large measure he offers apologetic assertion and apologetic exposition of the Christian faith.’80 4.4

Conclusion

The current chapter has examined the speech of the outsider Gamaliel. In order to grasp its significance, it was necessary to investigate the rhetorical situation that called for the speech. Acts 5.17–42 described the powerlessness of the Jerusalem authorities in attempting to put a halt to the expansion of the gospel. Luke shaped this theme by calling attention to the apostles’ miraculous prison release, the confusion of the Sanhedrin, and the boldness of the apostles. It was this last feature which brought the episode to a climax, as the 80 John T. Squires, The Plan of God in Luke–Acts (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), p. 191.

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members of the Sanhedrin were now wishing to execute the apostles. At this moment Gamaliel intervened. He delivered a deliberative speech in which he advocated the release of the apostles. He argued that a wait-and-see approach was necessary: if the Christian movement was not from God it would crumble on its own; if it was from God, the Sanhedrin would be fighting in vain precisely because they would be opposing a movement which had divine backing. The council having been persuaded, the apostles were released. The speech of Gamaliel, furthermore, had an effect at the level of subtext, that is, in relation to the audience of Acts. I argued that Luke constructed the narrative in such a way so as to immerse the speech of Gamaliel in dramatic irony. Consequently, for an audience that had witnessed the entire plot of Acts and the endurance and growth of Christianity described in that narrative, the speech had the deeper meaning that in fact Christianity was from God. Dramatic irony was not only noticeable in the statements that Gamaliel had made, it was also evident in the results that it secured. Thus, Gamaliel, a nonChristian, secured the liberation of the apostles with the result that these were able to continue the spread of the gospel. There is potency in this irony, since Gamaliel is presented as an unreliable character: ‘Luke’s intended reader assumes that Gamaliel opposes the apostles and hopes for the demise of their movement’.81 And yet it is precisely this enemy that secures the expansion of the gospel. This leads Marguerat to use the phrase ‘the irony of God’. He states: Chaque page du livre des Actes déploie l’ironie de Dieu. Si les hommes demeurent libres de leurs actes, ils en ignorent les conséquences. Ni Gamaliel lorsqu’il plaide pour la libération des Apôtres, ni les stratèges d’Ephèse [sic] lorsqu’ils font emprisonner Paul et Silas, ni le tribun Claudius lorsqu’il conduit Paul sous escortes à Césarée n’ont conscience de collaborer au plan divin. L’ironie de Dieu consiste à intégrer même les actions de ses ennemis pour les faire contribuer à l’avancée de la Parole ‘jusqu’à l’extrémité de la terre’ (1:8).82 Luke’s emphasis, therefore, would be on the risen Jesus’ absolute control of history. If the speech of Gamaliel is apologetic, then it is Darr, ‘Irenic or Ironic’, p. 135. Marguerat, ‘Le dieu du livre des Actes’, p. 331. To my knowledge, besides Marguerat, no one has reached this conclusion about the place of outsiders in Acts. Marguerat himself does not develop this insight any further. 81 82

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an apologia for insiders attempting to persuade them that the history of the church was under the direction of Jesus. As we have seen, the speeches of the outsiders in biblical and Second Temple literature have a similar function in reminding the Diaspora community that their God is still supreme despite its surrounding realities. Another way of determining the function of the speech of Gamaliel in Acts is by observing its place in the plot of Acts 5.17–42. Here we may draw on Marguerat and Bourquin’s explanation of a quinary model of plot construction.83 This model has five components: (1) situation initiale (introduction of the story), (2) nouement (introduction of the main tension in the narrative), (3) action transformatrice (pivotal action for the resolution of the plot), (4) dénouement (liquidation of tension), and (5) situation finale (annunciation of the new state of affairs). The nouement of 5.17–42 begins in v. 17 with the arrest of the apostles. It reaches a climax in v. 33 with the statement that the Sanhedrin wanted to kill the apostles: it is quite literally a situation of life and death. The speech of Gamaliel is introduced at this point. The speech is the action transformatrice of 5.17–42 as it moves the action into a specific horizon. Verses 41 and 42 can be seen to function as dénouement and situation finale respectively. The speech of Gamaliel is thus at the centre of the plot of Acts 5.17–42, performing a pivotal action in the entire narrative. In effect, the speech of Gamaliel should be viewed as a gesture of divine intervention whereby the apostles’ lives were preserved so that they could continue their divinely appointed task of gospel preaching. It is thus part of other ‘epiphanic’ examples in the first seven chapters of Acts: the healing of the lame man (ch. 3), the earthquake after prayer (ch. 4), and the prison escape (ch. 5). What is remarkable about the scenario in the speech of Gamaliel is the fact that it is an outsider to the Jesus movement who is responsible for the action transformatrice. This rhetorical and theological manoeuvre is thus powerfully dramatic and, for insiders, persuasive. I will argue in the following pages that the majority of the speeches of outsiders in Acts also stand as transformative actions in their respective plots. In the chapter that follows we will examine the short speech of Gallio in Corinth. I will attempt to appraise what function this speech plays in the book of Acts. 83

See Marguerat and Bourquin, Pour lire les récits bibliques, pp. 56–64.

5 T H E S P E E C H OF G A L L I O

The speech to be examined in this chapter takes place in Corinth. As in the speech of Gamaliel studied in the previous chapter, so the current one is spoken within a forensic context. On this occasion, however, it is Paul, not the apostles in Jerusalem, who is found at the centre of conflict. In addition, it is the Roman proconsul Gallio, not the Jewish Sanhedrin, who is to pronounce the verdict. For all the shifts in locations and persons, the present episode displays the fundamental traits of other episodes in the larger plot of Acts: the messengers of the gospel continue their task of evangelisation while the antagonists continue their attempt to blockade the rising tide of gospel infiltration. I shall be arguing in this chapter that Luke again places the speech of an outsider at a pivotal juncture of the narrative. In the configuration of Acts 18.1–18, the speech of Gallio is placed at a determinative point: it will be either the catalyst of further gospel expansion or an intimidating impediment to that expansion. I shall thus explore how the speech of the outsider Gallio is used in the narrative and what it tells us about Luke’s theology/historiography. 5.1

Context

The short speech spoken by Gallio took place during Paul’s so-called second missionary journey. Unlike Paul’s first missionary journey (13.4–14.28) where he was accompanied by Barnabas and John Mark (the latter temporarily), Paul’s companions in this second voyage were Silas and Timothy. It was in fact after Paul had chosen Timothy and circumcised him that the second missionary journey properly began (16.6). It is important to notice that Luke wished his readers to understand that both missionary journeys were initiated and guided directly by God. In 13.2 (the first journey) he reports the intervention of the Holy 135

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Spirit as he addressed the worshippers in Antioch by saying: ‘Set apart for me Barnabas and Saul for the work to which I have called them.’1 We also see the intervention of the Spirit in the second missionary journey. In 16.6–10 Paul and his companions went through the regions of Phrygia and Galatia because, Luke tells the readers, the Holy Spirit forbade them ‘to speak the word in Asia’ (v. 6). Again, in their attempt to go into Bithynia they were stopped, because ‘the Spirit of Jesus’ forbade them (v. 7).2 In 16.9–10 we are then told that Paul experienced a night vision in which a man from Macedonia implored him (αὐτόν, not αὐτούς) to go there and help. Convinced that this was a call from God, the missionaries crossed the Aegean and eventually reached Philippi. Given the underlined divine intervention narrated in 16.6–10, Luke’s point would seem to be that the entire missionary voyage was conceived and steered by God.3 The effect that such a conclusion would have on the readers’ understanding of the plot’s movement may be twofold. First, it would serve as a reminder that Jesus was still guiding the apostolic mission, a point which is brought out by the peculiar phrase found in 16.7, ‘the Spirit of Jesus’. This motif of divine guidance was first expressed by Jesus himself in 1.8, yet it figures in the entire narrative map of Acts, appearing again in 9.1–18, 18.9–10, and 23.11. Secondly, the motif of suffering expressed directly by Paul in 14.22, and which will figure prominently in the remainder of Acts beginning in 16.16, is thereby put in right perspective: the apostolic company will run into grave difficulties; however, that would not necessarily mean that the mission was being guided by the missionaries themselves. Rather, as will become apparent in these chapters, the suffering itself will serve to further the spread of the word. This brings us to the episode at Corinth.

This is reinforced in 13.4: Αὐτοὶ μὲν οὖν ἐκπεμφθέντες ὑπò τοῦ ἁγίου πνεύματος. Other places where we find direct speech by the Spirit are 8.29 and 10.19. 2 This is the only verse in Acts that speaks about the Spirit of ‘Jesus’. Several inferior mss. read either κυρίου or the more natural complement ἅγιος. I agree with Rudolf Pesch, Die Apostelgeschichte. Vol. 2. Apg 13–28 (Zürich: Benziger Verlag, 1986), p. 101, who states that Luke’s understanding was that Jesus, through the Spirit whom he promised and sent, was guiding the missionary endeavour. The literary and theological emphasis is that it is Jesus, personally, who guided the mission: ‘La formula di 16, 7 sottolinea la parte, que ha nella missione non solo lo Spirito Santo in genere … ma Gesù in persona in quanto Cristo e Signore’. The statement is from R. Penna, ‘Lo “Spirito di Gesú” in Atti 16, 7’, RivB 20 (1972): 260 (emphasis added). 3 Thus the majority of commentators, but see especially Tannehill, Narrative Unity, Vol. 2, p. 195. See also Jervell, Apostelgeschichte, pp. 416–18. 1

The speech of Gallio 5.2

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The narrative and speeches at Corinth (18.1–18)

After Paul was forced to leave Thessalonica he had a successful mission in Beroea (17.10–14) and a relatively ineffectual one in Athens (17.16–33). He then travelled west from Athens and arrived in Corinth (18.1). It was in this location that two speeches by the unbelieving Jews and the Roman proconsul Gallio were given. 5.2.1

Setting

The Corinth to which Paul travelled was not the naval powerhouse that we read about in Thucydides.4 That city had been razed to the ground in 146 BCE by the Roman consul Lucius Mummius.5 Although many scholars have stated that over the next century Corinth lay desolate and in ruins, it is more likely that some inhabitants still resided in its decaying remains.6 In 44 BCE, however, Julius Caesar ordered the rebuilding of the city and it became a prestigious colony, now named Colonia Laus Iulia Corinthiensis.7 In all likelihood it served as the capital of the province of Achaia.8 Its new populace was quite varied, with ‘veterans, manumitted slaves, and other members of the less prosperous and lower social classes, many of them probably of Greek origin …’ now inhabiting it.9 Natives from the East, not excluding Jews, also settled in this new Corinth.10 The Isthmian games were returned to it, and, because of its strategic geographic position (i.e. the narrow isthmus), it began to prosper again. Along with Macedonia, Achaea was made an imperial province by Tiberius in 15 CE after complaints of incompetent administration were aired. However, under Claudius in 44 CE it was returned to senatorial control.11 Latin was the dominant language and the city had taken a definite Roman identity, being known 4

Thucydides 1.13–14. Pausanias 2.1; Appian, Syr. 2.44. See James Wiseman, ‘Corinth and Rome I: 228 B.C. – A.D. 267’, in ANRW 2.7.1, pp. 438–548. For a succinct but very helpful overview of Corinth from literary and epigraphic sources, see Eckhard J. Schnabel, Urchristliche Mission (Wuppertal: Brockhaus Verlag, 2002), pp. 1130–5. 6 Thus Wiseman, ‘Corinth and Rome’, p. 494, following mostly Cicero. The same conclusion is reached by Charles K. Williams, according to Wiseman. 7 See A.H.M. Jones, The Greek City: From Alexander to Justinian (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1940), pp. 61–4. See also Jerome Murphy-O’Connor, St. Paul’s Corinth: Texts and Archaeology (Wilmington, DE: Michael Glazier, 1983), pp. 5–7; David W.J. Gill, ‘Achaia’, in The Book of Acts in its Graeco-Roman Setting, pp. 448–9. 8 Wiseman, ‘Corinth and Rome’, pp. 501–2. 9 Ibid., p. 497. 10 Ibid., p. 497. 11 Ibid., p. 502. 5

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as a centre of Romanitas.12 It was this newly refurbished city, both physically and culturally, that Paul came to evangelise. The other two dominant spatial locations of this pericope are the synagogue (vv. 4–8) and the judicial court (vv. 12–17). Indeed, Corinth as a city recedes into the background as the bulk of the narrative concerns Paul’s preaching in the synagogue and the subsequent accusation before Gallio. The synagogue, first of all, reminds the reader of numerous previous episodes in Acts that took place at this Jewish establishment. From these former texts we have come to expect that the synagogue functions as both the place of conversion as well as rejection. On the one hand, it is from the synagogue that the majority of converts have been won (Acts 13.14–43; 14.1; 17.4, 10–12). On the other hand, the persuasion of these converts has generated oppression against Paul and his companions at the hands of unconverted Jews. The synagogue, therefore, contributes to the mood of the passage by anticipating growth and persecution: ‘Nicht nur Erfolg, sondern auch Verfolgung gehören zur Missionsarbeit.’13 The scene at Corinth follows the same pattern. The location of the story shifts in the following verses (vv. 12–17), moving from the Jewish synagogue to the Roman βῆμα.14 A judicial atmosphere is therefore evoked, with Paul standing as the accused. As in the speeches of Gamaliel, the Philippian Romans (16.19–22), and the Jewish Thessalonians (17.5–8), also here the Christians are presented as being on trial.15 This situation adds to the social texture of the narrative, introducing the dynamic of honour/shame to which I have previously called attention (see §4.2.1). As in those former texts, the Christian missionaries fill the role of the shamed as they are the recipients of severe accusations. To conclude, it is accurate to say that Luke has crafted the narrative in such a way as to highlight an honour–shame encounter between the Christian preachers and their surrounding Mediterranean milieu. The element of conflict, therefore, imbues the entire narrative.

Gill, ‘Achaia’, p. 449; Murphy-O’Connor, St. Paul’s Corinth, p. 5. Jervell, Apostelgeschichte, p. 461. 14 It is debated whether the massive ‘bench’ discovered in the Corinthian forum is in fact the seat to which Luke is referring. See Plate IX in Wiseman, ‘Corinth and Rome’ for a portrait of this monument. 15 Cf. Tannehill, The Narrative Unity, Vol. 2, p. 226. 12 13

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Characters

We move now to the second foundational piece of our narrative analysis. As has been the case since ch. 13 of Acts, Paul remains the central character. Other important figures in this text are Aquila and Priscilla, the unbelieving Jews, Titius Justus, Crispus, the ‘Lord’, and Gallio. 5.2.2.1 Paul The entire description of Paul in the current pericope, with the exception of his statement in v. 6, occurs through direct definition. First, we are told of his trade in v. 3: Aquila and he ἦσαν … σκηνοποιοὶ τῇ τέχνῃ. To be sure, Paul mentions several times in his letters that he worked with his hands; the contribution of Luke here is his specification of Paul’s trade. The term σκηνοποιός refers to a tent-maker, although there is debate as to the type of material employed by Paul in the making of his product.16 More important than the specific raw material is the fact that Paul is said to be a manual labourer who depended on a τέκνη for a living. For a Jewish audience this was not only acceptable but commendable: teachers were not to make a profit from instructing in Torah but from a supplementing ‘secular’, often manual, occupation.17 In the eyes of the elite of Hellenistic and Roman culture, on the other hand, such menial labour as tent-making would have been looked upon with contempt.18 There is indeed some evidence to suggest that certain members of the Corinthian church, probably influenced by Sophists, were refusing to submit to the apostle’s authority partly because he was a manual labourer (cf. 1 Cor. 4.12).19 Whether this perspective towards manual labour had the same effect on the audience of Luke–Acts depends heavily on its ethnic and socio-cultural makeup and on how far it had allowed the

16 See the discussion in Barrett, Acts, Vol. 2, p. 863, for the possibilities of leather or goat hair as the materia bruta with which Paul worked. 17 See references to Jewish literature in Bruce, Acts, p. 346, n.7. 18 On the elite view of manual labour, see Lucian, Dream. On craftsmen in Roman society in general, see Alison Burford, Craftsmen in Greek and Roman Society (London: Thames and Hudson, 1972). Loveday Alexander, ‘Luke’s Preface in the Context of Greek Preface-Writing’, NovT 28 (1986): 48–74, however, has argued that scientific writers did not speak with scorn of craftsmen. 19 See Bruce Winter, Philo and Paul among the Sophists (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997).

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Christian view of work to adjust its perspective. Luke, at any rate, speaks of Paul’s occupation ‘in a totally matter-of-fact fashion’.20 The second aspect of Paul’s description is the familiar one of his teaching in the synagogue. Verse 4 tells us that he attended the synagogue each Sabbath and was able to persuade both Jews and Greeks.21 As to the content of his teaching, v. 5 clarifies that the thrust of it was that Jesus was the Christ (cf. 17.3). The third facet of Paul’s description is that of a teacher of the gospel. Although throughout the book of Acts Paul is presented as a ‘teacher of Israel’, he is also presented as the apostle to the gentiles (9.15; 13.46; 22.21; 26.17; 28.28). In this vein, v. 6 states that after the unbelieving Jews blasphemed (more than likely against the gospel), Paul performed the symbolic act of shaking his garments (cf. Lk. 10.11). What this act meant is clarified by Paul’s subsequent direct speech: ‘Your blood be on your own heads! I am innocent. From now on I will go to the gentiles.’ The basic meaning of this action and the subsequent words is that Paul had completed his responsibility of proclaiming the gospel to the Jews, but, as they had rejected it, they were responsible for the possibly impending judgement.22 The last detail of Paul’s characterisation in this text is the epiphany of which he is the beneficiary in vv. 9–10. Through a night vision, ‘the Lord’23 spoke to him saying: ‘Do not be afraid, but speak and do not be silent; for I am with you, and no one will lay a hand on you to harm you, for there are many in this city who are my people.’ I shall have occasion to comment on the effect of such a vision on the plot of this narrative. For now, it should be said that the relation of the vision to the character of Paul is one of legitimation: not only does it link him to another major character of Acts, namely Peter (see 10.9–16), but it also assures the reader that Paul’s mission at Corinth was divinely sanctioned.

Alexander, ‘Luke’s Preface’, p. 70. The Western text adds: καὶ ἐντιθεὶς τò ὄνομα τοῦ κυρίου Ἰησοῦ. Bruce, Acts, p. 348, remarks, ‘Even if the Western addition is no part of the original text, it does give us a convincing picture of the sort of thing Paul did.’ 22 Marshall, Acts, p. 294, adds that this was the sort of action done by Jews against gentiles: the point in 18.6 would be that the Jews ‘were no better than Gentiles, cut off from the true people of God’. As Jervell, Apostelgeschichte, p. 459, clarifies, however, this does not mean that Paul henceforth never evangelised Jews. 23 Surely a reference to Jesus. See Jervell, Apostelgeschichte, p. 460, and most commentators. 20 21

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5.2.2.2 Aquila and Priscilla In v. 2 Luke introduces a couple who figure prominently not only in his second volume, but also in the history of early Christianity.24 Aquila is described as a Jew from Pontus. Whether Priscilla was Jewish or not is left unspecified by Luke. It is certain that they were Christians. Luke explains that they had to leave Rome due to Claudius’ edict expelling all of such race from the city.25 Luke goes on to state that Aquila and Priscilla shared the same trade as that of Paul. Consequently, Paul made his lodging with them (v. 3). The mere fact that they hosted Paul is to be appraised favourably in regards to their character (cf. 16.15 with respect to Lydia). This positive portrayal is enhanced by other co-texts in Acts where Priscilla and Aquila accompany Paul on his travels (18.18) and instruct Apollos ‘more accurately’ in apostolic doctrine (18.26). 5.2.2.3 The unbelieving Jews The description of Jews as an ethnic group in this pericope is both positive and negative. It is positive in that the narrator portrays several Jews as already being or becoming Christians: Aquila and Priscilla (implicitly), the Ἰουδαίους of v. 4, and the official of the synagogue Crispus (v. 8). Further, Paul’s vow to concentrate on the gentiles in v. 6 does not impugn their character portrayal in Acts as it applies only to his time at Corinth: 18.19–21 shows him at work at a synagogue. It is not correct to deduce, therefore, that the narrator displays a basic anti-Semitic bent in this narrative.26 On the other hand, Luke uses strong language to describe the actions of the unconverted Jews. They ‘resist’ the gospel, and even ‘blaspheme’ against it.27 Secondly, the Jews bring Paul before Gallio 24

In Rom. 16.3 they receive heartfelt thanks from Paul and the gentile churches as those who are his fellow-workers in the gospel and risked their lives for the apostle. In 1 Cor. 16.19 we are told that a church meets in their home. Lastly, they are greeted in 2 Tim. 4.19. In all these references the proper Πρίσκα is employed rather than the diminutive used by Luke. 25 For the debate on the exact date of Claudius’ ruling, see Harry W. Tajra, The Trial of St. Paul: A Juridical Exegesis of the Second Half of the Acts of the Apostles (Tübingen: Paul Siebeck, 1989), pp. 52–4. 26 Jack T. Sanders, The Jews in Luke–Acts (London: SCM Press, 1987), pp. 275–7, performs very questionable exegesis in order to dispute all the Jewish conversions of this pericope. 27 The participles ἀντιτασσομένων and βλασφημούντων, when joined together, give the impression of a scathing attack against the gospel.

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in order to file an accusation and thus have him (and the gospel) possibly expelled from the city.28 This manoeuvre would be considered entirely wicked from the point of view of an implied author for whom the spread of the gospel is paramount. Lastly, depending on our interpretation of the thrust of their accusation in v. 13, Luke may be presenting the unbelieving Jews as manipulative and false. In conclusion, however, we are on sure ground in saying that the unconverted Jews of the synagogue are presented in a similar light as previous unbelieving Jews of Acts: that is, they formed a concerted robust opposition to the propagation of the gospel.29 5.2.2.4 Titius Justus and Crispus For those scholars who operate primarily from the more traditional historical-critical method, the fact that these two names are mentioned lends credence to the idea that Luke was dependent on a source for the composition of this episode at Corinth.30 Working as I am primarily from a narrative perspective – and of course without rejecting the sensibility of the source observation – I would posit that the naming of these two, particularly the latter, serves to strengthen the main point which Luke is attempting to underline in the narrative. Verse 7 explains that, after Paul’s rejection from the synagogue, he moved his evangelistic (and didactic) operations next door to the synagogue itself, to the home of one Titius Justus, a God-fearer.31 Tajra, judging from this personage’s nomen and cognomen, has suggested that he was both a colonist and a Roman citizen, and this high social status ‘would therefore facilitate Paul’s access to Corinthian gentile circles’.32 This is certainly a possibility. What is clear from this text as we read it in light of other co-texts is that Titius is portrayed

On this last point see Bruce, Acts, pp. 351–2. E.g. 13.45–52; 14.2, 19–20; 17.1–15. 30 E.g. Conzelmann, Acts, p. 151; Haenchen, Acts, p. 537; Pesch, Apostelgeschichte, Vol. 2, p. 146. All these authors recognise that Luke may still have edited this possible source. 31 E.J. Goodspeed, ‘Gaius Titius Justus’, JBL 69 (1950): 382–3, made the suggestion that this is a reference to the Gaius mentioned by Paul in 1 Cor. 1.14. While probable, this suggestion cannot be proved. 32 Tajra, The Trial of St. Paul, p. 50. 28 29

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positively by the gesture of offering a location where Paul could carry out his missionary efforts.33 In the case of the conversion of Crispus,34 the narrator’s aside, that he was ὁ ἀρχισυνάγωγος, is more than likely meant to amplify the success of Paul’s mission in spite of the Jewish opposition. Further, if the implied object of the participle ἀκούοντες in v. 8 is the report of Crispus’ repentance, then it could be said that his forsaking of the synagogue to join the new Christian congregation was influential in the conversion of πολλοὶ τῶν Κορινθίων (v. 8).35 5.2.2.5 The Lord As I indicated previously, it is more than likely that the mention of ὁ κύριος in v. 9 is a reference to Jesus. This is one of the many visions of the risen Jesus in Acts. While, of course, the character of Jesus dominated the Gospel of Luke, his appearances in Luke’s second tome are more sporadic: hence the strong probability that they are of no minor significance for the plot of the book. At this juncture I shall only speak of one common component of these visions in Acts as a whole; under §5.2.3.3 I shall treat its function in the plot of Acts 18.1–18 specifically. There are appearances of Jesus in 1.4–9, 9.1–9 (with parallels in 22.6–16 and 26.12–18), 22.17–21, and 23.11. In all these visions the one common denominator is the relationship between the vision and the mission to evangelise: that is, in each vision Jesus commanded his disciples with the task of evangelism on the basis that he himself was piloting the mission.36 Luke’s reporting of this in-breaking of the risen Jesus into the narrative therefore assures the reader that the events

33

Given the context that vv. 5–6 provide as well as the mention of the synagogue in v. 7, it is unlikely that Paul stopped lodging with Aquila and Priscilla to go with Titius Justus (as Haenchen suggests in Acts, p. 538). 34 Most commentators agree that this Crispus is the same as the one mentioned in 1 Cor. 1.14 as having been baptised by Paul. 35 It is difficult to ascertain what Luke wanted his readers to understand as the unspecified object of ἀκούοντες. On the one hand, when the content of what has been said by a speaker is the gospel, Luke includes the object τòν λόγον, sometimes with the genitive τοῦ θεοῦ or τοῦ κυρίου (4.4; 10.44; 13.7, 44; 19.10). On the other hand, there are occasions when no object is used but the clear complement is the gospel (2.37; 16.14; 19.5). The syntax of 18.8 would slightly favour the object as the report of Crispus’ conversion. See further under §5.2.3.2. 36 See also Johnson, Acts, p. 326.

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that transpired at Corinth were under divine control.37 As I will note further, the effect is to legitimise Paul’s mission in that particular city. 5.2.2.6 Gallio Marcus Annaeus Novatus was born in Cordova. He was the brother of the well-known philosopher Seneca.38 Once in Rome he was adopted by Junius Gallio and thus became L. Junius Gallio Annaeanus.39 He is called a friend (φίλος) of the emperor and proconsul (ἀνθύπατος) of Achaia in the famous Delphic inscription which contains an acclamation by Claudius.40 Estimating from the description provided by his brother Seneca, Gallio was blessed with an agreeable and winsome personality.41 However, because of Nero’s paranoiac behaviour he was eventually killed.42 Judging from his office as proconsul in the important province of Achaia, one can conclude that, at the time at which Paul was brought before him, Gallio had an influential personality. Indeed, Bruce Winter has recently made a compelling argument disputing the proposal that Gallio was a whimsical individual and a hypochondriac. Rather, when the primary sources are looked at closely, Gallio emerges as a bright, responsible, powerful, and unflattering individual who was an expert in legal matters.43 Luke provides a description by direct definition when he states that Gallio was the proconsul of Achaia. Indirect presentation is done through his speech and his action (or lack thereof) narrated in v. 17, although Luke reverts to direct definition in the editorial comment concluding the verse: ‘Then all of them seized Sosthenes, the official of the synagogue, and beat him in front of the tribunal. But Gallio paid no attention to any of these things.’ How does this last statement 37 See also the careful article by Benjamin Hubbard, ‘Commissioning Stories in Luke–Acts: A Study of their Antecedents, Form and Content’, Semeia 8 (1977): 103– 26, where he argues that Luke’s literary format of epiphanies is indebted to the Hebrew Bible, it in turn having being influenced by ancient Near Eastern literature. Hubbard concludes that the narration of divine commissioning (including Acts 18.9–11) ‘enabled Luke to illustrate graphically, especially in Acts, continuous divine guidance’ (p. 121). 38 Tajra, The Trial of St. Paul, p. 51. 39 See Barrett, Acts, Vol. 2, p. 870. 40 For a translation of the inscription see F.J. Foakes Jackson and Kirsopp Lake, eds., The Beginnings of Christianity: Additional Notes to the Commentary (London: Macmillan, 1933), Vol. 5, p. 461. 41 Seneca, Q. Nat. Preface 4. 42 Cassius Dio 62.25. His brother Seneca committed suicide. 43 Bruce Winter, ‘Rehabilitating Gallio and his Judgement in Acts 18:14–15’, TynBul 57.2 (2006): 291–308. See idem, ‘Gallio’s Ruling on the Legal Status of Early Christianity (Acts 18:14–15)’, TynBul 50.2 (1999): 218–22.

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contribute to the character Bild of Gallio? I must admit from the outset that this is a puzzling verse. If, on the one hand, the πάντες is a reference to Jews,44 then the verse would presumably mean that the very Jews who were part of the delegation attacked their own synagogue ruler perhaps because he had proved ineffective in persuading Gallio.45 This interpretation seems unlikely. On the other hand, if the πάντες is a reference to gentile bystanders,46 then the verse would be testimony of judeophobia that capitalised on Gallio’s negative ruling against the Jews.47 A second difficulty in the assessment of this text is Luke’s purpose in the final narrative aside of v. 17: ‘But Gallio paid no attention to these things’. Is this comment meant as a decisive smear on Gallio’s character? If that is the case, the conclusion reached by those who perceive the purpose of Acts as an apologia pro imperio is severely weakened.48 Winter has suggested that the demonstrative pronoun τούτων refers not to the actions of beating in v. 17, rather, it harks back to the τούτων of v. 15 with its clear reference to Jewish ζητήματα.49 If this interpretation is accurate, Luke may be reinforcing through this narrative aside the point that Paul’s case had nothing to do with Roman law, and hence Gallio paid no attention to it. 5.2.3

Plot

The episode at Corinth is composed of four scenes. In vv. 1–4, the first scene, Luke paints with broad strokes the first actions of Paul: his arrival at the important city of Corinth, his meeting and partnership with Priscilla and Aquila, and his successful preaching in the 44

As some inferior minuscule mss. attest: 36, 307, 453, 610, and 1678. Marshall, Acts, pp. 298–9, makes the suggestion that Sosthenes might have been beaten because he was a Christian sympathizer: the text of 1 Cor. 1.1 may refer to the same Sosthenes as in Acts 18. Although possible, this suggestion is made more difficult by the implication that Sosthenes was part of the party accusing Paul. 46 As the Western text clarifies by adding οἱ Ἕλληνες. 47 See Barrett, Acts, Vol. 2, pp. 875–6; Johnson, Acts, p. 329. But see more recently Moyer V. Hubbard, ‘Urban Uprisings in the Roman World: The Social Setting of the Mobbing of Sosthenes’, NTS 51 (2005): 416–28, who argues that viewing this episode through the lens of racial tension (i.e., judeophobia) is not the most compelling method. The mobbing should be viewed primarily as an example of mob violence so typical in the Roman world due to poverty. 48 An example of this form of apologetic reading of Acts was offered by P.W. Walaskay, ‘And so we came to Rome’: The Political Perspective of St. Luke (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983). 49 Winter, ‘Rehabilitating Gallio’, pp. 302–3. 45

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synagogue.50 In the second scene, vv. 5–8, Luke, as it were, zooms in and gives the reader a more detailed account of the events at Corinth. He also enlarges the content of the scene by reporting the Jewish rejection of the gospel, Paul’s dramatic act and speech, and his departure from the synagogue.51 The third scene reports an epiphany of the glorified Jesus to Paul in a dream. The risen Christ exhorts Paul not to be afraid and to continue his preaching. The reasons are that he will receive special protection and that many people in Corinth are appointed to believe. Paul obeys by remaining there for one and a half years διδάσκων … τòν λόγον τοῦ θεοῦ.52 The final scene in vv. 12–17 presents the dramatic conflict between Paul and the unbelieving Jews as they lodged a complaint against him before the Roman proconsul Gallio. The complaint, however, was unsuccessful as Gallio detected in it not the breaking of Roman law, but an example of Jewish inter-religious bickering. He refused to reach a verdict on the case and threw the Jews out of court. In this way the narrator wishes for his readers to understand that part of the promise of the risen Jesus in vv. 9–10 was fulfilled.53 It has been noted by some scholars that, with respect to the architectural background of this pericope (i.e., sources), Acts 18.1–17 is more than likely several separate reports collated into a single (albeit clumsy) narrative by Luke.54 Although this may very well be the case, it is clear that Luke emplotted the different scenes so as to construct a holistic narrative, even if this stitching was not done as smoothly as in other episodes.55 The plot of this pericope, I therefore suggest, is the initial success of Paul followed by opposition but yet culminating in 50 To borrow from Genette, Narrative Discourse, pp. 95–9, the duration of these verses is narrated in Summary fashion: the narrative time (nt) is shorter than the story time (st). 51 To continue with Genette’s construct of duration, Narrative Discourse, pp. 109–12, the episode is narrated in Scene fashion: the nt is equal to the st. We may here supplement Genette’s theory given that we are handling biblical material from a different epoch than Marcel Proust (the primary object of Genette’s work). Since biblical descriptions are often economic, the introduction of speeches and dialogues into an episode extends the nt and thus makes the Scene type of duration more emphatic. Such is the case in vv. 5–8. 52 This is also Scene duration. 53 Verses 12–17 are told in Summary fashion. The direct speeches of the Jews and Gallio, however, intensify the episode. 54 See, e.g., Conzelmann, Acts, p. 151; Gerhard Krodel, Acts (Minneapolis, MN: Augsburg Publishing House, 1986), p. 341. 55 As, for example, is the case in 16.11–40 and 17.16–34. See the comments in Schneider, Apostelgeschichte, Vol. 2, pp. 247–8, and Haenchen, Acts, pp. 538–41, for suggested points where Luke’s editorial hand may be clearly betrayed.

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the spread of the word. The principal thrust of Acts 18.1–17 is thus the advancement of the gospel in Corinth in spite of some very strong Jewish hostility.56 I will suggest that Luke advances this idea by (1) reporting Paul’s initial success (v. 4), (2) highlighting the conversion of Crispus (v. 8), (3) recording the promise of the risen Jesus to Paul (vv. 9–10), and (4) narrating Gallio’s defeat of the Jewish accusation brought against Paul (vv. 12–17). 5.2.3.1 Paul’s initial success (v. 4) In vv. 1–3 Luke narrates the meeting of Paul with Priscilla and Aquila as well as their joining together in the trade of leather-working. In v. 4, however, the reason why Paul came to Corinth is immediately spelled out: διελέγετο δὲ ἐν τῇ συναγωγῇ κατὰ πᾶν σάββατον, ἔπειθέν τε Ἰουδαίους καὶ Ἕλληνας. As on most other occasions when Paul entered a city and began his mission in the synagogue, so here in Corinth he made his base of operations this Jewish establishment. Naturally, he worked among them on the Sabbaths, when the congregation would meet for, among other things, scriptural reading and instruction. As v. 5 indicates, however, there were other times when Paul could evangelise the Jews (see below). Through discussion and debate (διαλογίζομαι) he was able to persuade both Jews and Godfearing Greeks to adopt the new Christian faith.57 To be sure, the high numerical success reported of the missions in Iconium and Thessalonica is not present here. Nevertheless, the affirmation that Jews and Greeks were converted is meant to emphasise the success of the gospel in Corinth. 5.2.3.2 The Conversion of Crispus (v. 8) As indicated previously, v. 5 begins a new scene in the narrative. We are told that when Timothy and Silas arrived at Corinth, Paul συνείχετο τῷ λόγῳ. The sense of the term συνέξω is aptly illustrated in Herodian 1.17.9, where the historian speaks of certain individuals as ‘being absorbed’ or ‘given to’ pleasures (συνεχόμενος ἡδοναῖς). The same idea of devoting oneself to something (also with the dative) is 56 Tannehill, Narrative Unity, Vol. 2, p. 221, makes the same point: ‘The scenes combine to show Paul having a long and fruitful ministry in Corinth in spite of strong Jewish opposition.’ See Haenchen, Acts, p. 538, for a similar remark. 57 See also 17.4 for πειθῶ as denoting conversion.

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found in the use of the verb in Arrian, Anab. 7.21.5.58 If we allow for the possibility that in their coming Timothy and Silas had brought a financial gift from Philippi (a view with which most commentators agree), then the sense of the verse is that Paul’s time was now unhindered by physical labour for his livelihood; hence, he could devote himself to uninterrupted evangelism of the Jews of the synagogue. This new intensity of gospel preaching was matched by an even stiffer resistance on the part of the unbelieving Jews. Verse 6 indicates that they not only ‘opposed’59 but also ‘reviled’60 the gospel.61 Their recalcitrant rejection of the gospel caused Paul in turn to reject them. This was done in symbolic action (‘he shook the dust from his clothes’)62 and in speech (‘Your blood be on your own heads! I am innocent. From now on I will go to the gentiles’). This, of course, does not mean that Paul was indefinitely turning his back on the Jews (as most commentators agree); it does mean that as concerns Corinth his efforts would now be concentrated on the gentiles. As Paul’s message had now been repelled by the Jews of the synagogue, he was forced to find a new location where he could ground his ministry. Verse 7 indicates that this was provided by a God-fearer, namely Titius Justus, who lived next door to the synagogue. Should the readers succumb to the thought that by this tacit expulsion from the synagogue Paul’s ministry had been frustrated and derailed, v. 8 quickly adds that Crispus ὁ ἀρχισυνάγωγος and his entire household believed. In order to appreciate the rhetorical force that such a statement is meant to evoke, it is necessary to pause and inquire about the status of the ἀρχισυνάγωγος in the synagogues of the Diaspora. In their important article ‘Archisynagogoi: Office, Title and Social Status in the Greco-Jewish Synagogue’,63 Tessa Rajak and David Noy argue convincingly for the superiority of inscriptions in attempting to reconstruct the different aspects of the term archisynagogos.64 BDAG, s.v., defines συνέξω as ‘occupy[ing] someone’s attention intensely’. ἀντιτασσομένων. Cf. Rom. 13.2; Jas 4.6. 60 βλασφημούντων. No stated direct object is attached to the two previous participles. However, judging from 13.45 where it is stated that the unbelieving Jews ἀντέλεγον τοῖς ὑπò Παύλου λαλουμένοις βλασφημοῦντες (‘the Jews were speaking against the words spoken by Paul, thereby blaspheming’), it is probable that the Jews at Corinth were in fact reviling the gospel. 62 Cf. Neh. 5.13. 63 JRS 83 (1993): 75–93. 64 As opposed to literary evidence such as the Gospels, the Talmud, and other subsequent writings. These are not altogether discarded; rather, they are given a secondary place. 58 59 61

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The reason for this significant methodological move is the observation that most of the literary texts are either influenced by the Gospel texts, misinformed, or anachronistic.65 Inscriptions, on the other hand, were carved by community insiders who were better informed on the different facets of the archisynagogos. Thirty-two inscriptions are collated66 yielding the following theses concerning the archisynagogos. First, although the term occurs in pagan contexts, it is normally associated with the Jewish synagogue. Secondly, the term is an honorific title. Given the mores of Roman society as seen in religious groups or trade guilds, this means that the qualification to be archisynagogos was not competence but mainly status. This reconstruction goes against previous analyses (Schürer, Krauss, Juster) that saw the designation as primarily functional.67 Thirdly, the archisynagogoi were benefactors in the mould of Roman ones, although the former tended to eschew statues and shields honouring them.68 Fourthly, the archisynagogoi could serve the role of patrons, liaising between the community and the members of the synagogue.69 In conclusion, Rajak and Noy suggest that the principal quality of the archisynagogos was not the ability to function in the weekly operations of the synagogue (in the liturgy, for example) but rather his wealth and high standing. Social status, therefore, was the sine qua non of an archisynagogos.70 If we allow these conclusions to inform our reading of v. 8, then we can readily see the influence that the conversion of the archisynagogos may have had on the synagogue: in an honour/shame driven culture, the conversion of one with an elevated social status would not have been insignificant.71 This may explain the final clause of v. 8: καὶ πολλοὶ τῶν Κορινθίων ἀκούοντες ἐπίστευον καὶ ἐβαπτίζοντο.72 It may also make more precise the identity of the ‘Corinthians’ who followed Crispus: if the primary sphere of influence of the archisynagogos was the synagogue, then we can conclude that these were gentile

Rajak and Noy, ‘Archisynagogoi’, pp. 78–81. 66 Ibid., Appendix I. Ibid., 84–7. 68 Ibid., 87–8. 69 Ibid., 88–9. 70 For further evidence supporting this conclusion, see Andrew D. Clarke, Serve the Community of the Church: Christians as Leaders and Ministers (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2000), pp. 126–38. 71 Thus also Gerd Theissen, Essays on Corinth: The Social Setting of Pauline Christianity, ed. and trans. John Schütz (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1982), pp. 3–74. 72 Thus my previous argument – that the unexpressed object of ἀκουοντές in v. 8 is the report of Crispus’ conversion – is strengthened. 65 67

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(God-fearers) synagogue participants and not gentiles without any ties to the synagogue.73 In conclusion, I suggest that Luke’s report of the conversion of the archisynagogos (and the ‘many’ Corinthians) is meant to give weight to the primary message that he is attempting to send in this pericope, namely, that in spite of Jewish rejection the gospel continued to advance. 5.2.3.3 The vision of Jesus (vv. 9–10) Unceremoniously, Luke reports in vv. 9–10 the night vision of ‘the Lord’ to Paul. The content is a command: ‘Do not be afraid, but speak and do not be silent’. There is also a word of encouragement: ‘for I am with you, and no one will lay a hand on you to harm you’.74 And lastly, the reason why Paul was to remain at the city of Corinth preaching is stated: ‘for there are many in this city who are my people’.75 Under §5.2.2.5 I called attention to the common theme which was manifest in the visions of Jesus in Acts – a commission to spread the gospel. What function does the vision of Jesus play in the rhetorical configuration of this particular pericope? First, I would argue that it has the effect of legitimising the ministry of Paul. The apostle has been cast out of the synagogue and his own people have rejected him. Could the implied audience not take this to mean that Paul was an illegitimate servant of God? The words of the risen Jesus, which for the narrator carry absolute authority, are a declaration that Paul’s ministry has divine sanction. The result of this for Paul as an individual would have been that of encouragement.76 Secondly, the statements of Jesus in vv. 9–10 may be seen to function as the cause of Paul’s actions narrated in v. 11: ‘He stayed there a year and six months, teaching the word of God among them.’ It should 73 Pace Schnabel, Urchristliche Mission, p. 1139, who believes this is a reference to polytheistic Greeks who were citizens of Corinth and possibly Roman citizens. 74 Thus evoking OT language of God to his servants: Ex. 3.12; Dt. 31.6; Josh. 1.5, 9; Is. 41.10; 43.5; Jer. 1.8 (see Marshall, Acts, p. 296). 75 διότι λαός ἐστί μοι πολὺς ἐν τῇ πόλει ταύτῃ. For Luke’s use of the term λαός as applying to gentiles, cf. Acts 15.14–18. Cf. also Jacob Jervell, Luke and the People of God, foreword by Nils Dahl (Minneapolis, MN: Augsburg Publishing House, 1972). 76 For other places where Paul apparently needed a heartening word, see 23.11 and 27.23–4. Tannehill, Narrative Unity, Vol. 2, p. 224, has also argued that, in light of his previous experiences of intense rejection such as at Antioch, Philippi, and Thessalonica, Paul may have been pondering whether to leave Corinth as he had done previously when the danger had become life-threatening. If this is the case, one wonders why Paul established a new base at the home of Titius Justus rather than exiting the city immediately after the Jewish final rejection.

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also be noted in this respect that the duration of v. 11 is presented in Summary fashion: the time that it takes to narrate the event is shorter than what the event would have taken in the story world. This may explain the use of the aorist ἐκάθισεν, as it conveys the action from a global or summary perspective. The implication of this observation about duration is that the latter part of the promise of Jesus (‘there are many in this city who are my people’) is seen as fulfilled; hence, Paul can remain for more than one year teaching the word ἐν αὐτοῖς.77 Given the narrator’s view of the reliability of the word of Jesus, it is correct to say that ‘the fact that it was the Lord’s promise is evidence enough that it was fulfilled’.78 A third function of the vision is as preparation for the upcoming incident before Gallio. Indeed, given my observation with respect to Luke’s construction of time in v. 11, I suggest that the events narrated in vv. 12–17 are to be seen as transpiring during the year and a half which Paul spent at Corinth. Consequently, as some commentators have noted, the Gallio incident is to be read in light of the previous vision: Paul does not come to harm precisely because Jesus had promised that he would not. We would add another function in conjunction to the trial scene before Gallio. The fact that Jesus had promised that Paul would suffer no injuries and therefore should stay to preach increases the suspense of the forensic scene: would he in fact suffer injury now that he was being accused? Thus, the climax of the narrative or, to use a narratological term, the nouement, is the scene before Gallio where the principal conflict of the pericope will be resolved one way or another.79 5.2.3.4 The speech of Gallio (vv. 12–17) In previous times in the narrative when Paul has been brought before agents of justice he has suffered both corporal punishment and shame (Philippi) and/or been forced to cut short a promising mission (Thessalonica). The readers/hearers are thus somewhat conditioned to expect an unpleasant situation when a judicial environment takes centre stage. Nevertheless, immediately before this accusation before the βῆμα of Gallio, the glorified Jesus had vowed to shield Paul from harm and use him as an instrument of many conversions. On the one 77

The unexpressed antecedent is most likely those who had been appointed to salvation as stated in v. 10. Schneider, Apostelgeschichte, Vol. 2, p. 251, n. 49: ‘ἐν αὐτοῖς bezieht sich auf die Bewohner der Stadt, “unter denen” Paulus lehrte’. 78 Marshall, Acts, p. 296. Cf. Haenchen, Acts, p. 540. 79 See also Haenchen, Acts, p. 538.

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hand, then, there is the accumulated experience of the readers – Paul has normally fared badly in forensic meetings. On the other hand, there are the words of Jesus promising a better outcome this time. This tension between Paul’s previous experience and the promise of Jesus frames the narrative; the elements of conflict and tension thus form the apex of the narrative at Corinth. Questions concerning which law it is that Paul was accused of perverting or which is the central message of the speech of Gallio are deferred to the speech section. Presently I will only note the outcome of the speech and how it bears on the plot of the pericope. The Jews submitted their accusation (v. 13); Paul was about to offer an apologia but was cut short by Gallio, who refused to judge the matter (vv. 14–15); the Jews were ejected from before the judgement seat and one of their representatives, namely Sosthenes, fell prey to the abusive bystanders (vv. 16–17). What effect does this outcome have on Paul’s Corinthian mission? We read in v. 18: ὁ δὲ Παῦλος ἔτι προσμείνας ἡμέρας ἱκανὰς τοῖς ἀδελφοῖς ἀποταξάμενος ἐξέπλει εἰς τὴν Συρίαν. Attention should be called to the expression ἡμέρας ἱκανὰς, since, given the successive structure of the narrative (promise → fulfilment → result), the point of v. 18a would seem to be that Paul was able to stay at Corinth for an indefinite amount of time80 winning and instructing the converts which Jesus had promised he would. As Jervell states, ‘Paulus blieb noch geraume Zeit in Korinth. Das heisst: Die hinreichende Zeit, oder die von Gott bestimmte Zeit, um das Volk Gottes in Korinth zu betreuen, 18, 10.’81 The ruling of Gallio, therefore, tightens the argument that I believe Luke is making in this section: the gospel, despite vigorous opposition, continued to move forward because the risen Jesus was controlling its history, even using the verdict of Gallio to accomplish this.82 As in the speech of Gamaliel, therefore, Gallio’s speech functions as the action transformatrice of the plot of 18.1–18. I will unpack this observation under the section on Gallio’s speech. To conclude, let me sum up my arguments to this point. I have put forth the suggestion that the object to which the narrative at Corinth moves is the demonstration of the inability of the gospel to be shackled by opposition. This motif, as I have had occasion to note Bruce, Acts, p. 354, translates the expression ἡμέρας ἱκανὰς as ‘many more days’. It is not clear why Barrett, Acts, Vol. 2, p. 876 would say that the phrase ‘suggests the addition of a relatively short stay’. 81 Jervell, Apostelgeschichte, p. 465. 82 On this central point to my argument, see further under §5.3.5. 80

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previously, is prevalent throughout Acts. In this particular pericope Luke unveils this theme by presenting on the one hand the spirited rejection of the gospel on the part of the Jews. This rejection at first sight may have given the impression that, as in Athens, response to the gospel would be minimal. Further, the scene before Gallio may have led the reader to expect Paul’s expulsion from the city as had happened on previous occasions. Nevertheless, this opposition to Paul and his message is shown by Luke to be thwarted. While it is made clear to Paul that he could no longer operate from the synagogue and a new base had to be secured, nevertheless no less than the archisynagogos with his family followed him to form part of the new Christian community. The influence of the archisynagogos’ decision is presented as affecting the rest of the Corinthians who worshipped in the synagogue: ‘many’ of them also became participants in the new community. And yet from previous chapters in Acts the reader intuits that the Jewish party would not so quickly raise the white flag. At this juncture in the narrative the risen Jesus breaks into the episode and promises protection of Paul and a successful campaign of gospel preaching in Corinth. This promise is quickly (in terms of narrative time) tested as the Jews attempt to impugn Paul before the important proconsul Gallio. However, the case is dismissed as Jewish internal strife. And so we read in v. 18 that Paul stayed in Corinth ‘many days’ completing the mission which was promised by the risen Jesus. The sketch above represents the main thrust of the narrative of Acts 18.1–18. It is now the proper time to examine in detail the speeches which form part of this narrative, particularly the speech of Gallio. 5.2.4

The speeches

In 18.12–17 we encounter two speeches by outsiders. There is the short accusatory statement of the Jews in v. 13 and the address of Gallio which spans vv. 14–15. In my attempt to grapple with the function of the speeches of outsiders in Acts it will be necessary to treat both of these, the first only briefly. As to what the species of the speeches are, the two differ. The Jewish speech, on the one hand, should be categorised as forensic in nature. The accusation is concerned with Paul’s previous behaviour vis-à-vis the νόμος (as to which law, see further below). The aim of the speech, although left unsaid, was obviously to secure the intervention of the proconsul so as to put an end to Paul’s missionary endeavours. The address of Gallio, on the other hand, seems to have been a hybrid

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of forensic (he is making a judgement on an action) and deliberative (he is suggesting a future course to take: ‘see to it yourselves’ [v. 15]). The statement of Soards is apropos in reference to Gallio: ‘The setting is judicial, as is the rhetoric, although Gallio’s remarks are more an explanation than an effort to persuade.’83 With respect to the different components of the speeches, the short speech of the Jews in v. 13 only contains the propositio. The speech of Gallio contains three, if unadorned, parts. There is the short exordium, ὦ Ἰουδαῖοι, in order to gain their attention. This is followed by narratio in the form of a conditional correlative construction: εἰ μέν … εἰ δέ (vv. 14–15), where Gallio gives his view on the nature of the case at hand. Finally, there is a short but poignant peroratio in v. 15c–d: ὄψεσθε αὐτοί· κριτὴς ἐγὼ τούτων οὐ βούλομαι εἶναι. The matter at hand in these two speeches is the conduct of Paul. In unison (ὁμοθυμαδόν) the unbelieving Jews led Paul to court and there accused him of perverting the law. The proconsul in response to this complaint used the terms ἀδίκημα and ῥᾳδιούργημα πονηρόν to categorise the possible misdeeds of Paul. Being convinced that none of these crimes applied to him, he dismissed the case. The issue at hand, therefore, could be said to be the following: what action must be taken in light of Paul’s apparent criminal behaviour? 5.2.4.1 The speech of the Jews There is a divergence of views on the part of commentators as to what was the precise nature of the Jewish complaint. The wording of the accusation, besides being syntactically awkward, is vague. This lack of clarity turns on the nature of the ‘law’ which the accusing Jews were attempting to denote. The accusation reads as follows: παρὰ τòν νόμον84 ἀναπείθει οὗτος τοὺς ἀνθρώπους σέβεσθαι τòν θεόν. Is the term νόμος being employed to denote Jewish law, in which case Paul was being charged with perverting the Mosaic law?85 Or is this ‘law’ which Paul was accused of contravening Roman legislation?86 A

Soards, The Speeches in Acts, p. 101. This prepositional phrase stands in an emphatic position in the sentence. This is also noted by Barrett, Acts, Vol. 2, p. 872. 85 Thus Jervell, Apostelgeschichte, p. 461; Johnson, Acts, p. 328; Tannehill, Narrative Unity, Vol. 2, pp. 226–7. 86 Thus Bruce, Acts, p. 353; Fitzmyer, Acts, p. 629; Schneider, Apostelgeschichte, Vol. 2, p. 252, n. 54. 83 84

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third option is that the accusation is couched in deliberately ambiguous language.87 I flesh out these options below. The merits of the Jewish view are at least threefold. First, the accusation was coming from Jews. Secondly, all other references to νόμος in Acts apply strictly to Jewish law.88 Lastly, Gallio understood the accusation to be Jewish in nature. However, the fact that the accusation came from a Jewish source does not necessarily imply that the law supposedly being perverted was a Jewish one. For example, Jews often complained to Roman authorities of gentiles breaking Roman law which protected them (the Jews). Secondly, while to be sure all instances of νόμος in Acts point to the Mosaic law, nevertheless in those contexts where it is not transparent which law is being spoken about the interlocutors add a complement to the term νόμος. Thus, in Claudius Lysias’ letter to Felix, he speaks of τοῦ νόμου αὐτῶν (23.29), and in the case of Paul’s apologia before the Roman Festus he uses the phrase τòν νόμον τῶν Ἰουδαίων (25.8). Given, as in these two examples, that when a gentile is involved in the discussions an explanatory genitive is added, we would expect the same procedure before the Roman Gallio. As it is lacking, it is possible to deduce that the reference in 18.13 is not to Jewish law. Lastly, although Gallio judged the argument as reflecting issues of Jewish law, it may be that he simply chose to read the matter this way in order easily to dismiss it: in matters of cognitio extraordinem the proconsul, being invested with imperium, could decide to accept or reject the hearing of a charge.89 The weaknesses of the argument for Jewish law, then, actually fortify the suggestion that the Jews were accusing Paul of breaking Roman law.90 Proponents of the third option – that the Jews were being purposely ambiguous – reason that the Jews knew quite well that they could not See particularly Tajra, The Trial of St. Paul, p. 56. A point also made by Heike Omerzu, Der Prozeß des Paulus: Eine exegetische und rechtshistorische Untersuchung der Apostelgeschichte (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2002), p. 254. However, she considers the accusation in Corinth to be redactional. 89 See A.D. Sherwin-White, Roman Society and Roman Law in the New Testament (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1963), pp. 99–100. 90 Indeed, there are those who would argue that the Jews were appealing to an edict of Claudius which vouchsafed for them quiet enjoyment of their way of life (the edict is quoted by Josephus in Ant. 19.5.2 and 20.1.2). However, Sherwin-White, Roman Society and Roman Law, p. 103, makes the following clarification: ‘[T]he intention of the edict of Claudius was merely to reaffirm the Jewish privilege of toleration … that they should not be prevented by the Greek city governments from assembling for the purposes of their cult’. Therefore, if appealing to this edict, ‘the Jews were exceeding the intentions of Claudius’. 87 88

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openly appeal to a Roman edict since it was not applicable to this case. Neither could they candidly say that Paul was perverting Jewish law since these sorts of inner arguments were of no concern to a Roman proconsul (unless of course they began to cause civic disturbance, which was not the case, as far as Luke says, in Corinth). The Jews, therefore, by being ambiguous, ‘rolled the dice’, hoping that Gallio would see in Paul’s behaviour some kind of Roman lawbreaking and (without seeking further clarification) judge accordingly. This argument is supported by the lack of a complement for the term νόμος and also the imprecise τοὺς ἀνθρώπους at the end of v. 13. In addition, I would add that the charges may have been framed in an ambiguous manner because if Gallio had concluded that the accusation was baseless, then the Jews could have been guilty of calumnia (‘malicious prosecution’) and thus punishment could have been ordered against them.91 It is difficult to decide on any one of these options as none is without problems. The suggestion that the plaintiffs were being deliberately unclear (although if pushed they would have perhaps admitted that their suggestion was that Paul was breaking Roman law) is plausible given my comparison with the other uses of νόμος in Acts before a gentile and the very ambiguous τοὺς ἀνθρώπους. Whatever the precise nature of the charge, the narrator has made clear the intentions of the unbelieving Jews: to thwart the spread of the gospel. And this is the function of their speech in this narrative, a function which is identical to that of the Thessalonian Jews in 17.5–7. 5.2.4.2 The Speech of Gallio In assessing the charge of the Jews, Gallio apparently granted the possibility that the complaint had to do with the breaking of Roman law; if this were the case, he would have heeded their accusation. Thus he states the condition in v. 14: εἰ μὲν ἦν ἀδίκημά τι ἢ ῥᾳδιούργημα πονηρόν … κατὰ λόγον ἂν ἀνεσχόμην ὑμῶν. The first term used to refer to Paul’s possible action is ἀδίκημα. This is a very general term that can cover a number of wrongs.92 An excellent example that illustrates the range of the word is found in Josephus, War 2.581, 91 See A.H.M. Jones, The Criminal Courts of the Roman Republic and Principate, with a Preface by John Crook (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1972), p. 118. 92 Thus BDAG, s.v. defines it as ‘a violation of norms of justice, a wrong, crime, misdeed’. Cf. Acts 24.20.

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where it serves as the header for a catalogue of vices that includes κλοπῆς τε καὶ λῃστείας καὶ ἀρπαγῆς. All these, of course, were punishable by Roman law. To this broad term Gallio adds ῥᾳδιούργημα πονηρόν.93 A person who engaged in ῥᾳδιούργημα was not looked upon favourably. Thus, for example, Polybius considers this a quality of slaves as opposed to free men (12.10.5), and Diodorus Siculus sees it as characteristic of mercenaries who are generally agreed to be engaged in troublemaking: ῥᾳδιουργίᾳ τε καὶ τόλμῃ (1.77). Plutarch uses the word of ‘fraud’ (Pyrr. 6.4), a sense which is also present in the papyri.94 Gallio appeared to be saying, then, that were the issue at hand one of general criminality, disturbance, or fraudulent behaviour (again, all punishable by Roman law), he would have accepted their case.95 However, if it is (εἰ δέ … ἐστιν, which here may be shading into an affirmation) ζητήματα … περὶ λόγου καὶ ὀνομάτων καὶ νόμου τοῦ καθ’ ὑμᾶς, ὄψεσθε αὐτοί. The word ζήτημα (‘controversial questions’) is only found in Acts in the NT and without exception refers to matters of Jewish law (15.2; 23.29; 25.9; 26.3). The current verse proves to be no exception as the prepositional construction περὶ λόγου κτλ. demonstrates. Since it was Gallio’s view that the garbled accusation of the plaintiffs in fact referred to inter-Jewish controversies, he commanded them to deal with it themselves: ὄψεσθε αὐτοί (v. 17). In a short note published in 1983 by J.L. North,96 attention was called to the possibility that the above phrase may be related to the Latin videre de and that in Acts 18.15 ‘the Roman Gallio has either made a Greek calque on his own Latin idiom or has had it imposed upon him’.97 Bruce prefers the Latin perfect uideritis as the term which is being rendered in Greek.98 Either of these two is possible. What is more important for our purposes is that either phrase uses language which was often employed at court to refer to investigations. As such, North can conclude that Gallio ‘is reminding the Jews of their competence to deal with certain questions’.99 As the concluding phrase indicates, In examining this term I also include the cognate ῥᾳδιουργία. MM, s.v. renders it on occasion as ‘forgery’. This is the sense of κατὰ λόγον ἂν ἀνεσχόμην ὑμῶν. 96 J.L. North, ‘Is ΙΔΕΙΝ ΠΕΡΙ (Acts 15.6 cf. 18.15) a Latinism?’ NTS 29 (1983): 264–6. 97 North, ‘Is ΙΔΕΙΝ ΠΕΡΙ a Latinism’, p. 265. If this is the case, Luke may have had a first-hand report of the saying, given that Latin may have been the official language at Corinth (see under §5.2.1). Alternatively, Luke may be engaging in prosopopoeia. 98 Bruce, Acts Greek Text, p. 396. 99 North, ‘Is ΙΔΕΙΝ ΠΕΡΙ a Latinism’, 265. 93 94 95

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κριτὴς ἐγὼ τούτων οὐ βούλομαι εἶναι, Gallio exercised his right to steer clear from such discussions, and was apparently telling the Jews to settle the matter in-house. The case was therefore dismissed and the Jews were expelled from before the proconsul’s judgement seat. 5.3

The function of the speech of Gallio

We have studied both of the speeches of outsiders in the missionary episode at Corinth. There was the short, ambiguous accusation of the Jews and the response by Gallio. The location of the speech of the Jews in the narrative as well as its content allow the reader to discern that the role the Jews play in this episode is that of antagonism towards the gospel. For the reader who has witnessed the success of the gospel as narrated in vv. 1–8, it is clear that the unbelieving Jews were attempting, through their speech, to avert any further spread of that gospel. As we shall see in the next chapter on Ephesus, the speech of the gentile Demetrius has the same goal. Our focus in this chapter, however, has been primarily on the speech of Gallio. I propose that his speech functions on two levels. At the level of text, it is the straightforward verdict of a proconsul who concludes that the conflict between the synagogue and Paul was an inner-Jewish strife. For the characters in the story (with the possible exception of Paul), this decision merely signified that Paul would not be punished for his annunciation of Jesus as the Messiah. At the level of subtext, viz. with the audience of Luke–Acts, the speech of Gallio may have a profounder significance than is visible on the surface level. The arguments below are offered as justification of this view. First, the audience knows the entire plot of Acts, which is, in essence, the spread of the gospel from Jerusalem to the ends of the earth (1.8). Had Gallio made a ruling against Paul, the repercussions for this global plan may have been disastrous: Any decision taken by civic magistrates, like the politarchs of Thessalonica, would have effect only within their limited jurisdiction, but the verdict of a Roman governor would not only be effective within his province but could be followed as precedent by governors of other provinces.100 100

Bruce, Acts Greek Text, pp. 351–2.

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There were thus very high stakes at play in the response of Gallio, with the expansion of the mission being jeopardised. Secondly, the audience, unlike the characters, has been made privy to Paul’s nocturnal vision of the risen Jesus (18.9–10). Jesus commanded Paul to stay in Corinth on the basis of divine protection and a promising conversion harvest. The scene immediately after this promise was the forensic encounter before Gallio’s bench, where Paul was accused of perverting Roman law: the narrator thus wishes his readers to view the Gallio scene as presenting a possible obstacle to the promise of Christ as stated in the previous scene. The word of Jesus, however, proved more powerful. Gallio rejected the Jewish accusation and Paul was delivered from possible harm, thus continuing his ministry until its proper (divinely appointed) conclusion. This is confirmed by what we read in 18.18, where it is said of Paul that he ἔτι προσμείνας ἡμέρας ἱκανὰς τοῖς ἀδελφοῖς ἀποταξάμενος ἐξέπλει εἰς τὴν Συρίαν. Paul was able to remain ‘many days’ at Corinth because of the risen Jesus’ protection. The vision of Jesus thus proves to be crucial for our understanding of Luke’s rhetoric in this episode: ‘The vision itself provides the interpretive framework for understanding what happens to Paul: it is God who ensures that no harm comes to Paul in Corinth.’101 We can therefore conclude that Luke wanted his readers to view the speech of Gallio as the means by which Paul was able to remain in Corinth in order to complete his missionary task as commanded by Jesus. The literary technique through which Luke constructed this significance is dramatic irony: Gallio, an outsider, unwittingly, was the instrument through which Paul was able to remain harm-free, thus being able to disseminate the gospel in Corinth and eventually continue his mission to Ephesus (after a stop at Antioch). The characters present at Gallio’s ruling could not have known this, but the audience could because of its privileged position. We thus have all three components of dramatic irony: double significance, tension between the levels of text and subtext, and a ‘victim’. There is, moreover, another aspect of the speech of Gallio which is used by Luke in order to advance his own purposes. This aspect has to do with Gallio’s verdict that at the centre of the accusation stood Jewish controversies rather than Roman law-breaking. Hence, in describing the nature of the complaint of the Jews, Gallio stated 101 Beverly Gaventa, The Acts of the Apostles (Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 2003), p. 261.

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that the issue was actually one of ζητήματα … περὶ λόγου καὶ ὀνομάτων καὶ νόμου τοῦ καθ’ ὑμᾶς: that is, Jewish controversies. What is significant is that in all of Paul’s apologetic speeches the point is also emphasised that the accusations being lodged against him were ones that dealt strictly with Jewish matters. Thus, in his apologia before the crowd in Jerusalem, the narrator, even before the speech has commenced, is already sending signals to the readers to the effect that at hand are Jewish topics. This he does by including the detail that Paul addressed the crowd τῇ Ἑβραΐδι διαλέκτῳ (21.40). The Jewish theme continued when Paul made the following opening remarks about his birth and youth: Ἐγώ εἰμι ἀνὴρ Ἰουδαῖος, γεγεννημένος ἐν Ταρσῷ τῆς Κιλικίας, ἀνατεθραμμένος δὲ ἐν τῇ πόλει ταύτῃ, παρὰ τοὺς πόδας Γαμαλιὴλ πεπαιδευμένος κατὰ ἀκρίβειαν τοῦ πατρῴου νόμου, ζηλωτὴς ὑπάρχων τοῦ θεοῦ καθὼς πάντες ὑμεῖς ἐστε σήμερον (22.3). Lastly, Paul recounted that when Ananias spoke to him after his vision of the risen Christ, he stated that it was ὁ θεòς τῶν πατέρων who had chosen him (22.14). All the statements of this apologia are thus steeped in Jewish nomenclature. In another apologetic episode, when Paul was being questioned by the Sanhedrin, Luke allows the audience to hear what he was being tried about; in his subsequent response, Paul stated: ἐγὼ Φαρισαῖός εἰμι, υἱòς Φαρισαίων· περὶ ἐλπίδος καὶ ἀναστάσεως νεκρῶν ἐγὼ κρίνομαι (23.6). Again, these are Jewish issues. In the apology before Felix, Paul once again stated that he was being tried for Jewish controversies: λατρεύω τῷ πατρῴῳ θεῷ, πιστεύων πᾶσι τοῖς κατὰ τòν νόμον καὶ τοῖς ἐν τοῖς προφήταις γεγραμμένοις (24.14). He concluded his defence by stating that περὶ ἀναστάσεως νεκρῶν ἐγὼ κρίνομαι σήμερον ἐφ’ ὑμῶν (24.21). These are not Roman concerns but Jewish. Lastly, in the final apologia before Agrippa, Paul began by stating that he was fortunate ἀπολογεῖσθαι before one who was familiar πάντων τῶν κατὰ Ἰουδαίους ἐθῶν τε καὶ ζητημάτων (26.2, 3). The implication was that Paul was happy to defend himself before someone who was abreast of Jewish topics precisely because the theme of his defence would be about Jewish questions. Again, therefore, Luke has made it clear that Paul’s conundrum did not arise as a result of Roman law-breaking but Jewish debates. What is noteworthy about all these speeches from Paul is that they make exactly the same point made by the outsider Gallio in his own speech. Indeed, both Paul and Gallio use the term ζήτημα to label the Jewish disputes. It is possible to conclude that these parallels are

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coincidental. On the other hand, given Luke’s proclivity for repetitive terms and themes in the different speeches,102 it is more likely that these correspondences were shaped intentionally. I suggest, therefore, that Luke has used the speech of Gallio to voice his own belief: the speech of the outsider affirms what a reliable character, namely Paul, asserts in other locations in the narrative. The readers of Luke– Acts would thereby be led to conclude that Gallio was led (it will be recalled that the incident followed immediately after the recording of Jesus’ promise of protection and conversions) to make statements that were in agreement with those of Luke. I would propose, in fact, that Luke wanted his readers to reach the conclusion that, in an ironic twist, Gallio was, unwittingly, offering an apologia on behalf of Paul. A clue in support of this interpretation may be found in the unusual phrase inserted at the point when Paul was ready to give his defence: ‘when Paul was about to open his mouth’ (18.14). The phrase is found elsewhere in Acts (8.35; 10.34), but not with μέλλω. This vivid detail may hint that the argument that Paul was about to put forward was actually proposed by Gallio.103 The characters in the episode (with the exception of Paul) would not have known this; they did not have access to the latter chapters of Acts to see that Paul had made apologetic defences that used the same argument as that found in the speech of Gallio. The audience, on the other hand, who did know how Paul responded in subsequent chapters when being accused of Roman infraction, could well have reached the conclusion that the outsider Gallio was, inadvertently, defending Paul. My suggestion, it should be clarified, is not that Gallio was purposely offering an apology for Paul’s innocence: Gallio was neither pro-Paul nor pro-Christian. It appears that he was attempting to be a conscientious judge and not more. However, by means of dramatic irony, Luke was hinting to his readers that in fact Gallio was giving an apologia. Luke has thus employed the speech of an outsider to move forward one of his main points, namely, that Paul and Christianity were no threat to Roman law.

For which see especially Soards, The Speeches in Acts, passim. It is also possible that Paul learned from this argument of Gallio how he should defend himself when being accused of Roman law breaking; but this in no way blunts the irony. 102 103

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5.4

Conclusion

Luke’s primary theme in his narration of Paul’s mission at Corinth was the inability of opponents to put a halt to gospel expansion. One of his supporting arguments was found in the court scene before Gallio. Luke had placed a vision of the risen Jesus immediately prior to the incident before Gallio, thus providing for his readers a hermeneutic through which to view the incident. Paul was accused by unbelieving Jews of infracting Roman law. When he was at the point of giving his defence, the proconsul intervened and gave his ruling: the litigation had to do with Jewish matters in which he refused to arbitrate. The case was dismissed and Paul was able to remain in Corinth for a lengthy period. Luke used the speech of Gallio to move forward his own theological viewpoint. He showed that the speech of Gallio was the means by which Paul was able to stay unharmed in Corinth, thus fulfilling the promise of Jesus. Moreover, Luke planted sufficient clues in the narrative to lead the readers to conclude that the speech of Gallio provided a defence for Paul. The defence was basically that the actions of Paul did not warrant Roman intervention since the issues had to do with intra-Jewish controversies and not Roman law. As the later chapters of Acts demonstrate, this is one of Luke’s principal points in his second volume. While it is possible to conclude that this apologetic scenario is meant to rehabilitate Paul before a doubtful audience, it is more probable that, as a document for insiders, the speech of Gallio was being employed by Luke to assure his readers that the Jesus movement was divinely guided: God used a powerful outsider to accomplish his ends of gospel preaching in the city of Corinth and beyond. Here we see a strong correspondence with the speeches of outsiders in Jewish literature, where the discourse of an influential outsider was used to accent God’s protection of his people and hence its legitimacy.104 In the following chapter we move to examine the speeches of two outsiders in the city of Ephesus.

104 It is also possible to envision a dialogue between the synagogue and the Christians, where the Christians could resort to Gallio’s judgement at Corinth in order to demonstrate to the Jews that their movement was just as legitimate as theirs.

6 T H E S P E E C H E S OF D E M E T R I U S A N D THE EPHESIAN TOWN CLERK

The importance that Luke gave to Paul’s missionary activity at Ephesus may be gauged by the amount of words he employed to describe it. In comparison to other locations of missionary work, the description of the Ephesian ministry is the longest of any in all three of Paul’s missionary journeys.1 If the amount of space given to a particular episode is any indication of the author’s purposes, then the narrative at Ephesus presents a strategic window to view Luke’s aims in his composition of Acts. I find it of interest, therefore, that in such a significant narrative Luke takes care to include the speeches of two outsiders: Demetrius the silversmith and the Town Clerk. I believe that the fact that two outsider speeches have been included in this narrative is suggestive of their importance for our understanding of Luke’s project. In what follows I explore the significance of these two speeches and compare them to the previously examined speeches: I suggest that a pattern for Luke’s use of the speeches of outsiders continues to emerge. 6.1

Context

Acts 18.24–20.1 forms an entire section held together by the location of Ephesus. This section is divided into three main parts: (1) 18.24–19.7, where the theme is that of a deficiency of knowledge concerning Jesus. Both Apollos and the twelve disciples at Ephesus knew of John’s baptism but not enough about Jesus.2 (2) 19.8–22, where the ministry of Paul is successfully portrayed: both Jews and gentiles in all of Asia were hearing the word of the Lord, remarkable miracles were being

1 It is slightly longer than the description of Paul’s work in Antioch of Pisidia in 13.13–52. 2 Thus also Talbert, Reading Acts, p. 172.

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done, and magic was being overcome by Christianity. (3) 19.23–40, where Luke introduces the theme of persecution against the Way. Taken as a whole, 18.24–20.1 depicts the final phase of Paul’s ministry while he was still at liberty. It is a section that highlights the great success of the gospel in Asia and particularly in the city of Ephesus. The advancement that the gospel would have in Ephesus could have been anticipated from 18.21, where Paul had said to the members of the synagogue at Ephesus: πάλιν ἀνακάμψω πρòς ὑμᾶς τοῦ θεοῦ θέλοντος. According to Talbert, ‘This means, in Luke’s scheme of things, that Paul’s ministry in Ephesus, narrated in Acts 19, is according to God’s will.’3 It is therefore possible to draw a connection between this verse and 13.1–3 and 16.6–10, where Luke was highlighting the divine initiative behind Paul’s missionary journeys. 6.2

The narrative and speeches at Ephesus (19.23–40)

6.2.1

Setting

Both of the speeches to be studied in this chapter were delivered in the city of Ephesus. The second speech within Ephesus took place in the theatre (19.28–40). I begin my exegesis by inquiring into the spatial, temporal, and social aspects of these two settings. Ephesus was located on the eastern shore of the Aegean in the province of Asia in what is presently modern Turkey. Although the city had suffered economic depression in the final decades of the first century BCE,4 by the time the apostle Paul made his visit the city had prospered greatly, due in part to the stability brought in by the Pax Romana but also because it possessed the largest harbour of Asia

Talbert, Reading Acts, p. 172. Compare also the variant reading from the Western Text in 19.1, θέλοντος δὲ τοῦ Παύλου κατὰ τὴν ἰδίαν βουλὴν πορεύεσθαι εἰς Ἰεροσόλυμα εἶπεν αὐτῷ τò πνεῦμα ὑποστρέφειν εἰς τὴν Ἀσίαν. While external attestation would favour the reading accepted in NA27 (but see Barrett, Acts, Vol. 2, pp. 894–5), the Western reading attempts to make explicit what the narrative implies. 4 According to Paul Trebilco, ‘Asia’, in The Book of Acts in its First Century Setting. Vol. 2. The Book of Acts in its Graeco-Roman Setting, ed. Conrad Gempf and David W. J. Gill (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1994), pp. 303–4, the reason for this downfall was Sulla’s fine on the entire province of Asia due to its giving of allegiance to Mithridates and betrayal of Rome. The Ephesians obeyed Mithridates’ command to kill all Romans and Italians living in Asia, going so far as to slay even those who took refuge in the temple of Artemis. In addition to this fine, Ephesus suffered economically from the abuse of tax collectors as well as the interferences of pirates in sea trade. 3

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Minor.5 By approximately 30–29 BCE, Augustus had made it the seat of the proconsul of Asia.6 In addition, due to its great potential for economic growth, it was made the capital of Asia, which led in turn to even more wealth.7 Its prosperity in the first century CE could be measured by the numerous monumental public buildings which had been erected, thus parading the city’s high and independent status.8 Of course, the pinnacle of the city’s architectural splendour was the famous Artemisium. The temple had first been erected around 560 BCE and then burned in 356 BCE.9 Once rebuilt by the beginning of the Roman Empire, however, its grandeur became inimitable in antiquity. Trebilco notes that the temple measured 130 by 70 metres, about four times the size of the Parthenon.10 Besides being the topic of discussion in several ancient books,11 it was often found in lists of the seven wonders of the ancient world. Something of its magnificence may be visualised by the following description: I have set eyes on the wall of lofty Babylon on which is a road for chariots, and the statue of Zeus by the Alpheus, and the hanging gardens, and the colossus of the Sun, and the huge labour of the high pyramids, and the vast tomb of Mausolus; but when I saw the house of Artemis that mounted to the clouds, those other marvels lost their brilliancy, and I said, ‘Lo, apart from Olympus, the Sun never looked on aught so grand’.12 If it is also kept in mind that the funds for this grand edifice had come from the Ephesians’ own capital, then we can appreciate the special tie that existed between Ephesus and Artemis. Since this attachment is of special significance to the pericope at hand, some elaboration is needed.

Strabo 14.1.24. See also Brill’s New Pauly, s.v. ‘Ephesus’. Ibid. For an account of how Ephesus became the central city of Asia, see Mathias Günther, Die Frühgeschichte des Christentums in Ephesus, 2nd edn (Berlin: Peter Lang, 1998), pp. 18–19. See also D. Knibbe, ‘Ephesos’, PW Sup 12, pp. 248–97. 8 See especially David Magie, Roman Rule in Asia Minor to the End of the Third Century after Christ, Vol. 1 (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1950), pp. 582–4. 9 Strabo 14.1.22. See Brill’s New Pauly, s.v. ‘Ephesus’. 10 Trebilco, ‘Asia’, pp. 322–3. 11 See Richard Oster, ‘Ephesus as a Religious Center under the Principate, I. Paganism before Constantine’, in ANRW 2.18.3, p. 1713. 12 Antipater, in The Greek Anthology, 9.58. 5 6 7

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Richard Oster, in outlining the ‘covenant bond’ that existed between Artemis and Ephesus, calls attention to several significant phrases and concepts visible in epigraphic, numismatic, and literary remains. First, there are the more simple expressions voicing the special unity between Artemis and the city of Ephesus: ἡ Ἄρτεμις Ἐφεσίων or ἡ μεγίστη Θεὰ Ἐφεσία Ἄρτεμις.13 Secondly, the covenant is highlighted through sculptural iconography which depicts a mural crown and sanctuary headdress on the head of the image of Artemis. Oster explains, ‘In the case of Ephesus, the mural crown depicted the goddess’ protection of the city’s fortifications and thereby its general welfare.’14 Thirdly, there is the use of the important term νεωκόρος, which was employed to designate those in charge of general temple administration. By applying this term to the city rather than just a group of individuals, Ephesus was ‘affirming its divine appointment as the keeper and protector of the religion and cult of the goddess, and is the recipient of the privileges and blessing which go with that office’.15 Lastly, Oster calls attention to the missionary zeal of the Ephesians, demonstrated in their exportation of the cult throughout the Greco-Roman world.16 Since the goddess undoubtedly held a special significance for Ephesus, one may ask about the perception of Artemis in the eyes of the Ephesians. That is to say, what attributes were accorded to her? Oster provides the following list.17 First, on the basis of the name’s etymology, Artemis was believed to be benevolent to her followers, granting health and happiness.18 Secondly, Artemis was seen as one who listened to the prayers of her devotees. One such brief prayer was this Ἄρτεμις Ἐφεσιά, σώζετε Πλούταρχον τòν πρύτανιν καὶ γυμνζίαρχον, καὶ τὰ τέκνα αὐτοῦ.19 Thirdly, Artemis was held as Oster, ‘Ephesus as a Religious Center’, p. 1700. Ibid., p. 1701. See also Herodotus 1.26, where he recounts that, ca 560 BCE, when the Ephesians were attacked by Croesus, they dedicated the city to Artemis by tying a rope from her temple to the city. 15 Oster, ‘Ephesus as a Religious Center’, p. 1702. See also Steven J. Friesen, Twice Neokoros: Ephesus, Asia and the Cult of the Flavian Imperial Family (Leiden: Brill, 1993), pp. 50–9. 16 Oster, ‘Ephesus as a Religious Center’, p. 1703. The phrase ἀποσταλέντες was used of those being sent to spread the fame of Artemis. 17 See also Rick Strelan, Paul, Artemis, and the Jews in Ephesus (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1996), pp. 48–52. 18 Oster, ‘Ephesus as a Religious Center’, pp. 1722–3. Plato held that the term ἀρτεμές revealed that Artemis ‘was by nature healthy, well ordered, and a lover of virginity’ (p. 1722). 19 Ibid., p. 1723. 13 14

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compassionate and tender, especially to those facing the prospect of death.20 Lastly, she was believed to have lordship over fate and the cosmos. Consequently, titles such as Βασιληΐης κόσμου, Κυρία, and Σώτειρα were applied to her.21 Strelan’s conclusion of Artemis’ attributes and their significance is helpful: In summary, the main function and role of Artemis was that of protectress and savior. Artemis provides safety – for the city, for those who flee to her for sanctuary, for young men and women in particular … At a political level, Artemis was the symbol of Ephesus, ancient, respected and honored even by political opponents in the city, and enduring in power and status.22 Given the importance of Artemis for the city of Ephesus, it is not surprising that, with respect to social settings, she imbues the entire narrative. As such, it could be said that the very setting of this pericope alerts the reader of upcoming conflict: Paul’s message about Jesus will come into direct collision with the strong Artemisian cult of Ephesus. The second important location of 19.23–41 is the theatre. Verse 29 indicates that the city became confused by the cries of Demetrius’ partners and rushed into the theatre having seized Paul’s companions Gaius and Aristarchus. The theatre at Ephesus was one of the largest in the Roman world, with a seating capacity of approximately 25,000.23 It was erected during Hellenistic times (prior to the Principate) but was rebuilt, as most theatres in the empire, on a Roman plan during the Principate.24 In order to appreciate the effects that the mention of the theatre has on this passage, a comparison with other ancient literature may be useful. Ibid., pp. 1723–4. 21 Ibid., p. 1724. Strelan, Paul, Artemis, and the Jews, p. 52. In spite of such ‘positive’ language about Artemis, it seems questionable for Strelan to criticise Clinton Arnold (Ephesians: Power and Magic. The Concept of Power in Ephesians in the Light of its Historical Setting [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989]) for making the claim that Artemis was seen as animated by satanic powers and therefore evil. Strelan states that such language is ‘biased and anachronistic’ (p. 88). Arnold’s point, however, is that from the Christian perspective Artemis was considered demonic and evil by the mere fact that she was a false goddess; this is not anachronistic language (see, e.g., 1 Cor. 10.20–1; 1 Tim. 4.1). 23 See Margarete Bieber, The History of the Greek and Roman Theater (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1939), p. 245. Its size could be gauged by the fact that it had seven tyromata (giant doors) and about twelve flights of stairs to the auditorium (p. 257). See also Trebilco, ‘Asia’, p. 348. 24 See Mary Boatwright, ‘Theaters in the Roman Empire’, BA 53 (1990): 186. 20 22

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Similar riotous events as those narrated in Acts 19.28–40 can be seen, among other places, in Diodorus Siculus 16.84.3, Josephus, War 7.46–53, 107–11, Ant. 17.161–5; and the novelist Chariton 3.4.1–18. From these texts, which like Acts use terms such as θέατρον, δῆμος, and ἐκκλησία (or cognates), the following observations concerning the functions of the theatre as the locale for assemblies emerge. First, the theatre was a place where citizens of a particular city could meet in order to deliberate about civic and political problems and reach a decision as to what future course to take. Since Ephesus was a free city,25 it had the privilege of autonomously deciding what action to take on cases presented before the assembly.26 Secondly, the assembly congregated at the theatre was presided over by appointed officials who were normally part of the elite.27 Lastly, should the assembly have found a person or group of people guilty, it may have meted out death in the very theatre.28 It could be concluded, therefore, that the scene at the theatre provides the narrative at Ephesus with strong civic and political overtones. Robert Stoops has also noted the importance of the assembly at the theatre for the configuration of the pericope. He states, ‘The description of the scene brings out the political dimension of the disturbance caused by Demetrius and his friends. The earlier appearance of the term δῆμος … suggested a political element, but the phrase ἦν γὰρ ἡ ἐκκλησία συγκεχυμένη makes that element unavoidable.’29 The contribution of this setting to the plot is its underlining of the political and civic conflict aroused by Paul’s preaching. The events Thus Magie, Roman Rule, pp. 57, 117. See Andrew Lintott, Imperium Romanum: Politics and Administration (London: Routledge, 1993), pp. 36–40. 27 See Jones, The Greek City, pp. 170–1. In Chariton 3.4.1–18 mention is made of ἄρχοντες as those leading the assembly. Callirhoe’s father, Hermocrates, seems also to be presiding given his high status in Syracuse; alternatively, he may have been one of the ἄρχοντες. See also Boatwright, ‘Theaters in the Roman Empire’, p. 185. 28 Chariton is again illustrative. Once the pirate Theron had been recognised to be the villain, he was tortured with fire. The assembly, infuriated as it was, would have executed Theron immediately were it not for Hermocrates’ intervention, who considered the deed (under those circumstances) illegal. Theron was then taken to the harbour and crucified there. Josephus’ account (War 7.46–53) is also illuminating. The Antiochenes, he states, burned some of the accused Jews in the very assembly and then wanted to go out and kill the rest of the Jews in the city. Connecting these observations to Acts, it may be said that in all likelihood had the livid assembly in 19.28–40 executed Gaius and Aristarchus, it would have then attempted to capture and kill Paul as well, since crowds at theatres had a strong reputation for violence. 29 Robert F. Stoops, Jr, ‘Riot and Assembly: The Social Context of Acts 19:23-40’, JBL 108 (1989): 86. 25 26

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that took place at the theatre thereby focus the reader’s attention on what is central in the pericope: the clash between Paul’s message and the religious/political/civic ethos of Ephesus. 6.2.2

Characters

One of the striking details of the current narrative is the fact that almost all of the major characters are non-Christians. The absence of Paul, in particular, is odd, and has therefore caused commentators problems in attempting to construct the possible historical background of the account.30 Nevertheless, while it is certainly true that Paul is only incidentally mentioned (vv. 29, 30), the central theme of the pericope has to do with the non-Christian response to the damage done to pagan worship precisely through the missionary preaching of Paul. Thus Tannehill correctly states, ‘the whole episode indirectly demonstrates the powerful effects of Paul’s work in Asia through the emotional reaction of people who feel threatened by it’.31 I find the following statement from Haenchen, therefore, to be somewhat out of place: ‘So Paul is victorious, without himself setting foot on the field of battle.’32 6.2.2.1 Demetrius This individual receives characterisation both by direct definition and indirect presentation. Through the former technique, the narrator directly informs the reader of his character by stating that (1) Demetrius was a silversmith who made silver shrines of the temple of Artemis (v. 24a) and (2) that he brought ‘no little business to the artisans’ (v. 24b). This direct description of Demetrius is extremely negative. The term ἀργυροκόπος occurs once in the Greek Bible with reference to an idol maker (Judg. 17.4); and ἄργυρος (or ἀργύριον) is also found numerous times. Although 30 See Johnson, Acts, pp. 352–3. On the other hand, Witherington, Acts, p. 584, notes that Paul’s absence from the episode is ‘a fact which again reminds us that even after Acts 16 the story is not primarily about Paul and his exploits but about the progress of a social movement (“the Way”) and of the unstoppable word of God …’ While this may be right, the person of Paul does indeed cast a shadow over this narrative. Paul Trebilco, The Early Christians in Ephesus from Paul to Ignatius (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004), p. 159, has suggested that Paul’s absence from the episode may in fact strengthen the historical plausibility of the account: ‘If Luke had created the story, it seems likely that he would have put Paul at the centre of the action, and perhaps had him address the crowd.’ 31 Tannehill, Narrative Unity, Vol. 2, p. 241. 32 Haenchen, Acts, p. 579.

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the latter term sometimes refers to currency or to silver adornments, on many occasions it is encountered in polemical texts relating to Israel’s foolish idolatry displayed by their making of silver images.33 Since it is very probable that Luke–Acts’ readers were familiar with the Greek Bible, this portrayal of Demetrius would have been devastating: not only was he an idolater but also a maker of idols.34 The last part of v. 24 completes the narrator’s direct negative sketch of Demetrius. The reader is told that his business brought great earnings to the silver craftsmen. By inserting this detail the narrator is grouping Demetrius and his guild35 with other characters in Acts for whom the acquisition of wealth was more important than the gospel: Ananias and Sapphira (5.1–11), Simon Magus (8.9–24), and the Philippian slave-girl owners (16.16–24).36 Indirect presentation of Demetrius is achieved through the reporting of his speech and ideology. Although I shall comment on his speech under a separate section, it is enough to mention for the moment that it coheres with the direct definition portrayal sketched above. The speech began with a very straightforward statement of concern for the silversmiths’ economic situation: due to the preaching of Paul they were in danger of losing their source of income, Ἄνδρες, ἐπίστασθε ὅτι ἐκ ταύτης τῆς ἐργασίας ἡ εὐπορία ἡμῖν ἐστιν, καὶ θεωρεῖτε καὶ ἀκούετε ὅτι οὐ μόνον Ἐφέσου ἀλλὰ σχεδòν πάσης τῆς Ἀσίας ὁ Παῦλος οὗτος πείσας μετέστησεν ἱκανòν ὄχλον, λέγων ὅτι οὐκ εἰσὶν θεοὶ οἱ διὰ χειρῶν γινόμενοι. In v. 27 Demetrius shifted from the economic to the religious: not only were they in jeopardy of losing their income, but also the majesty of the great Artemis was 33

E.g. Is. 46.6; Jer. 10.4; Ez. 16.17. That he constructed silver ‘shrines’ (ναούς) rather than representations of Artemis herself is immaterial. In any event, his speech in vv. 25–7 shows that he was a follower of the goddess. Concerning these shrines, most commentators have noted that only terracotta miniature samples have been found rather than silver ones. On this and on the suggestion that the Demetrius of Acts may be identified with a Demetrius mentioned in an Ephesian inscription, see Barrett, Acts, Vol. 2, p. 923. 35 In all probability they formed a collegium. This was a voluntary association of individuals who united for professional, religious, and social reasons. Collegia could be found throughout the Greco-Roman world but were particularly popular in those large cities where trade was central (such as Ephesus). They were also often the cause of uprisings, as is well illustrated in Acts 19.23–40. On collegia, see Voluntary Associations in the Graeco-Roman World, ed. John S. Kloppenborg and Stephen G. Wilson (London: Routledge, 1996); Brill’s New Pauly, s.v. ‘Collegium’. On associations of silversmiths at Ephesus, see New Documents, Vol. 4, pp. 7–10, where one such guild of silversmiths from the time of Claudius has been identified. 36 Thus most commentators, but see especially Johnson, Acts, p. 353. 34

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about to be diminished. Although it is possible to conclude from these words that Demetrius had an economic and religious concern,37 it is more likely that his religious rhetoric in the second part of the speech was a pseudo-pietistic manoeuvre in order to veil a raw materialistic motive. This may be the case if we keep two factors in mind. First, it has often been noted that the Artemisium was not only a centre of religious devotion, but also perhaps the principal cornerstone of financial stability in Ephesus and all of Asia.38 Pilgrims from all over the Roman Empire often visited the temple and contributed financially. In addition, the Artemisium was known to have served as a bank, lending money and assuming mortgages of others’ properties.39 Secondly, as I have noted above, by stating in v. 24 that Demetrius secured great gain to his guild, the narrator provides the reader with a hermeneutical lens through which to view the speech. Given these two observations, it is probable that Demetrius’ claim of care for the honour of Artemis was not due to great religious devotion on his part, but rather was hypocritical rhetoric in order to prevent the demise of the Artemis cult and the concomitant economic plunge which would no doubt have affected him: ‘If that [the fall of the temple] happens then all of Asia, let alone all the world, would no longer come to Ephesus and trade and business in shrines would be finished altogether.’40 To be sure, as head of a guild that was linked with Artemis he no doubt would have engaged in nominal worship. Nevertheless, Luke’s point is that the economic factor was that which motivated Demetrius’ anger. Lastly, Luke portrays Demetrius and his guild through an ideology which is visible through his speech and subsequent actions. First, Demetrius is presented as an idol-maker and one who worshipped the very idols he made. Secondly, he is portrayed as a lover of money, a trait which is continually attacked in Luke–Acts. Finally, he is depicted as hypocritical, claiming to be distressed by the possible downfall of the Artemis cult when in reality the omniscient narrator has already informed his audience that material possession was what drove Demetrius’ indignation. Thus Jervell, Apostelgeschichte, p. 490; Talbert, Reading Acts, p. 178. See Oster, ‘Ephesus as a Religious Center’, p. 1717. See also Inscr. Ephesos 1.1, for an inscription detailing an inventory in the temple of Artemis. 39 Oster, ‘Ephesus as a Religious Center’, p. 1718. 40 Strelan, Paul, Artemis, and the Jews, p. 139. See also Werner Thiessen, Christen in Ephesus: Die historische und theologische Situation in vorpaulinischer und paulinischer Zeit und zur Zeit der Apostelgeschichte und der Pastoralbriefe (Tübingen: Francke Verlag, 1995), pp. 102–3. The same conclusion is reached in New Documents Vol. 4, p. 9. 37 38

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6.2.2.2 The Asiarchs After Paul’s companions had been dragged to the theatre, we are told in v. 30 that Paul himself wanted to make an appearance before the assembly. However, the disciples did not permit him to do this. In addition, v. 31 states that some ‘Asiarchs’ sent messages to Paul dissuading him from such a dangerous action. Luke further highlighted the relationship between Paul and the Asiarchs by including the conspicuous phrase ὄντες αὐτῷ φίλοι (v. 31). The mention of the Asiarchs is noteworthy not only because this is the only place in the New Testament where the title appears, but also because of the recognised high social status of this group. In this respect, an important essay by L.R. Taylor in the Beginnings of Christianity series has been widely influential on subsequent studies on the function of the Asiarchs in Acts.41 He argued that the term ‘Asiarch’ was virtually synonymous with ἀρχιερεύς; that is to say, at least one among the Asiarchs simultaneously served the asiarchy and high priesthood of the imperial cult in the province of Asia. While this conclusion is possible, other authors, taking cognisance of the discoveries of the last thirty years of epigraphic evidence of Asia at large and Ephesus in particular, have posited that the asiarchy was not necessarily equivalent to the high priesthood, at least in the latter part of the first century CE.42 Rather, they argue (in my opinion convincingly) that the Asiarchs are to be seen primarily as holders of civic instead of provincial offices.43 As civic officers the Asiarchs were administrators of the city, often appearing in the inscriptions with the additional title of γραμματεύς.44 Further, most inscriptions bear witness to the Asiarchs as philanthropic benefactors of the city by their contribution to the erecting of buildings and presidency over the gladiatorial games.45 Four of the Asiarchs examined by Kearsley were Roman citizens as signalled by their names.46 In one of the 41 L.R. Taylor, ‘The Asiarchs’, in Jackson and Lake, eds., Beginnings Vol. 5, pp. 256–62. 42 See particularly R.A. Kearsley, ‘Some Asiarchs of Ephesos’, in New Documents Vol. 4, pp. 46–55; idem, ‘The Asiarchs’, in The Book of Acts in its Graeco-Roman Setting, pp. 363–76. See also Friesen, Twice Neokoros, pp. 92–113. 43 Kearsley, ‘The Asiarchs’, p. 376. 44 Kearsley, ‘Some Asiarchs’, pp. 49–55. 45 Ibid., pp. 50–5. The reference to the Asiarchs as presidents of the games, however, is documented in an inscription from the third century CE and may not apply to the period of Acts. 46 Ibid., p. 52.

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inscriptions (dated approximately 211–12 CE) a particular Asiarch is called a friend of the emperor (φιλοσέβαστον), thereby showing the possible high political connections of this group.47 In conclusion, the narrator’s characterisation of the Asiarchs is partly moulded by their relationship to Paul. They demonstrated their concern for his well-being by preventing his entrance to the riotous assembly. By reporting Paul’s amiable relation to a group that possessed high political status, Luke is probably underscoring Paul’s (and by extension the Christians’) innocence from law-breaking.48 As the speech of the Town Clerk shows, this is one of Luke’s main points in this pericope. 6.2.2.3 The crowd Several terms are used in order to call attention to the actions of this stock character.49 For convenience’s sake I employ the term ‘crowd’ to refer to the people who gathered in the theatre at Ephesus. Luke characterises the crowd through direct definition and indirect presentation. Both techniques yield an unfavourable portrait of the crowd. Directly, the narrator makes the following statements about the crowd: (1) it was in a state of confusion (σύγχυσις, v. 29);50 (2) it did not even know exactly why it had congregated in the theatre (v. 32); and (3) it was unfriendly towards Jews (vv. 33–4). This direct definition is complemented by indirect presentation portrayed through the shouts of the assembly: ‘Great is Artemis of the Ephesians!’ (v. 34). Luke added the detail that they shouted this idolatrous chant for two hours. The crowd is thus depicted as an ignorant, raucous entity which was also idolatrous. It is only after it had been warned of a possible charge of sedition (and thus loss of its internal freedom) by the important γραμματεύς that it stopped its agitation and exited the Kearsley, ‘The Asiarchs’, p. 375. Cf. Schneider, Apostelgeschichte, Vol. 2, p. 277. See Schnabel, Urchristliche Mission, pp. 1171–2, who questions this apologetic strategy, asking: ‘Warum soll es “verwunderlich” sein, dass hohe städtische Beamte mit Paulus befreundet sein?’ One may respond that Paul was introducing into the city a message that clashed with the cult of Artemis and thus may have jeopardised the economic and civic stability of the city. As such, the statement that they were friendly toward Paul does raise an eyebrow and points to Luke’s apologia. 49 δῆμος (vv. 30, 33) and ἐκκλησία (vv. 32, 39, 40), given the context, denote a group of people gathered in an assembly in order to discuss issues pertinent to the πόλις . (See BDAG s.v. δῆμος, ἐκκλησία). See also Sherwin-White, Roman Society, pp. 83–9. 50 This confused state is said of the πόλις. Surely, however, Luke is using hyperbole, and in fact he is referring to the large crowd aroused by the silversmiths. 47 48

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theatre. Scholars have noted parallels between the account in Acts and romantic and historical literature from the Greco-Roman period concerning such descriptions of crowds gathered at theatres.51 6.2.2.4 The Town Clerk By the period when the Acts of the Apostles was composed, the civic office of γραμματεύς had changed dramatically from the mere recordkeeping secretary of the classical and Hellenistic periods to that of a much more important and distinguished civic figure.52 David Magie states concerning the position: ‘This office, necessitating a specialized knowledge, was sometimes held for a long period, and the Clerk, as a result of his political experience, exercised great influence in cityaffairs.’53 Consequently, in the city of Ephesus the Town Clerk became superior in status even to the στρατηγοί.54 His duties included keeping city records (for which he had several clerks working under him), leading the assembly meetings, and speaking for the assembly.55 Bruce adds that the Town Clerk also had the duty of serving as a liaison between the local civic government and the wider Roman provincial administration.56 Given the above information, the description of the crowd’s obedient response to the words of the Town Clerk reflects the authority of the office. Luke does not comment directly on the character of the Town Clerk. Rather, he indirectly ‘shows’ the character by means of a speech. Since I shall devote a section to examining the speech of the Town Clerk, only some brief, preliminary comments will be made at this point. First, the Town Clerk clearly affirmed Ephesus’ special connection with Artemis as well as the goddess’ divinity by saying that these facts were beyond argument (vv. 35–6a). Secondly, he stated that Paul’s companions were not guilty of temple desecration or of blasphemy (v. 37). Thirdly, he counselled Demetrius and his collegium – should they have a further complaint – to bring the matter to the provincial governor or wait for a regular meeting of the assembly (vv. 38–9). Fourthly, he warned the crowd of the possible charge of sedition (v. 40).

51 See Richard Pervo, Profit with Delight: The Literary Genre of the Acts of the Apostles (Philadelphia, PA: Fortress Press, 1987), p. 36, n. 88, for parallels to this rather comic – but dangerous – phenomenon. 52 See O. Schultheß, ‘γραμματεῖς’ in PW 7: 1708–80; Magie, Roman Rule, p. 645. 53 Magie, Roman Rule, p. 60. 54 Sherwin-White, Roman Society, p. 86. 55 Trebilco, ‘Asia’, p. 351. 56 Bruce, Book of the Acts, p. 378.

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One of the questions that arises from this speech and which is critical to our understanding of the narrator’s characterisation of the Town Clerk is whether he is aligning himself with the idolatrous beliefs expressed by the crowd (vv. 35–6), or whether he is making the statements in order to calm the raging crowd without necessarily being fanatically concerned with the divine origins of Artemis. The answer to this question has ramifications for our understanding of the entire narrative of Acts 19.23–40 and what precisely it was that Luke was attempting to communicate through it.57 I suggest that the Town Clerk was primarily concerned with appeasing the crowd rather than with zeal for Artemis. This may be the case for the following two reasons. First, it is noteworthy that the Town Clerk’s acclamations about Artemis came in the exordium of the speech, a section which orators exploited to gain the goodwill of the audience. Secondly, had the city been found guilty of sedition, the Roman authorities would have held the Town Clerk responsible.58 It was therefore in his best interest that the assembly disband. If the above observations are accurate, then we may fill the ‘gap’ left open in the Town Clerk’s characterisation. He is depicted as a witness of the innocence of Christianity with respect to temple desecration or blasphemy and as a wise civic leader who was against mob lynching.59 As such, he is representative of a group of high-ranking outsiders in the Acts of the Apostles who were willing at least to examine fairly the innocence (or lack thereof) of the Christians rather than yielding to the spontaneous rage of a group of people. These characters, unbeknown to them, served the function of allowing for the further spread of the Christian message. Examples that we have already encountered are Gamaliel and Gallio, and, as we shall see in chapter seven, Claudius Lysias. 6.2.3

Plot

The episode narrated in 19.23–41 has to do with a riot incited by the guild of the silversmiths against the work of Paul in the city of Ephesus. Demetrius, the head of the guild, complained to his business partners that the preaching of Paul had already had a negative effect This question is also addressed in Tannehill, Narrative Unity, Vol. 2, p. 244. Thus Bruce, Book of the Acts, p. 378. 59 Is this because he is one of the Asiarchs and therefore friendly to Paul and his companions? Tannehill, Narrative Unity, Vol. 2, p. 244 states: ‘If we are to infer this [that Christianity is innocent], the secretary’s position is close to that of the Asiarchs who act as Paul’s “friends” and seek to protect him.’ 57 58

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in Ephesus and all of Asia: people were being persuaded that handmade images were not gods at all. Consequently, the business of the silversmiths was suffering and could have suffered further. In addition, the majesty of Artemis herself was in jeopardy of being brought down. Aroused by this speech, the silversmiths agitated the city and, having seized two of Paul’s companions, rushed into the theatre in order to stage an unscheduled assembly. As the assembly became unruly, the city’s Town Clerk had to intervene. He argued that Paul’s companions had not been involved in temple desecration or blasphemy; in any case, it was common knowledge that Artemis had a divine origin. This being the case, argued the Town Clerk, Demetrius should have followed proper suit in a legal (scheduled) assembly if he had any further complaints against the missionaries. The Town Clerk finally dismissed the assembly after warning it that it was putting the city in danger of being charged with sedition. The crowd obeyed, and Paul and his companions were not harmed. What is Luke’s intention in including this episode in his work? I shall argue below that his two principal purposes are as follows: (1) to show his readers how, in spite of grave danger, God was still able to frustrate the threats of the enemies of the Jesus movement and open the way for Paul to complete the divine task of going to Jerusalem and eventually Rome, and (2) to show that the Christians were not guilty of temple desecration. I will attempt to demonstrate this by calling attention to the apologetic strategy employed by Luke and by examining the speeches of Demetrius and the Town Clerk. One of the explanations of the aim of the author that has won a large following is that offered by Robert Stoops.60 Observing primarily the writings of Josephus, Stoops discerns a Jewish apologetic strategy fitted to the charges of rioting in the context of the assemblies of Hellenized Asia Minor. When the Jews of the Diaspora were accused of public disorder, their defence followed a typical pattern; their argument had the following logic: ‘If our opponents riot, then our rights or privileges ought to be confirmed.’61 Stoops states that this sort of argument seems to have been acceptable to Roman authorities and was therefore common in Hellenistic-Jewish apologetic writings of the period. Luke, argues Stoops, is following this model in Acts 19.23–41: 60 Stoops, ‘Riot and Assembly’. For a brief but perceptive survey of other explanations, see also Reinhard Selinger, ‘Die Demetriosunruhen: Eine Fallstudie aus rechtshistorischer Perspektive’, ZNW 88 (1997): 242–4. 61 Stoops, ‘Riot and Assembly’, p. 79 (emphasis added).

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It was … natural that Luke should interpret opposition to Christian assemblies in the cities of the eastern Mediterranean according to an established argument within Jewish apologetic. By showing that opponents of the Way were the ones who threatened to disrupt the social order, Luke could suggest that Christians should be tolerated and allowed to conduct their own affairs.62 But does not this interpretation assume that the readers of Acts were Roman officials with the authority to allow for such toleration? Stoops avoids this pitfall by arguing that this apologetic model was directed at ‘insiders’: ‘These Christian assemblies claimed to be the inheritors of God’s promises to Israel, even though they were dominated by Gentiles and had abandoned most of the ancestral customs of the Jews.’ He further adds: The apologetic elements would have been understood by believers who shared Luke’s worldview and experience. Those readers had a concrete need for self-definition and reassurance. Acts is not a handbook of debating points but a presentation of Luke’s understanding of the world and the place of the community of believers within that world.63 The Christians, in other words, would have found their identity as the people of God strengthened and confirmed by observing that the original people of God, the Jews, had also found themselves in virtually identical hostile situations and had given the same apologetic response. The strength of this hypothesis lies in its appreciation that apologetic writings are usually aimed at the community which is being harassed rather than at the antagonists. Further, it taps into a theme which has been recognised by Luke–Acts’ scholars, namely, that one of the author’s purposes was to demonstrate that the Christians were linked in various ways to Israel.64 It would appear, therefore, that Luke has used this apologetic strategy to highlight his readers’ status as the people of God. We now turn to the two speeches of outsiders.

Stoops, ‘Riot and Assembly’, p. 81. 63 Stoops, ‘Riot and Assembly’, pp. 89–90. I use the imprecise term ‘link’ purposely, recognising that this connection between the church and Israel is explained in diverse ways by different writers. See Alexandru Neagoe, The Trial of the Gospel: An Apologetic Reading of Luke’s Trial Narratives (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), pp. 19–21; I.H. Marshall, ‘Luke and his Gospel’, in Das Evangelium und die Evangelien: Vorträge vom Tübingen Symposium 1982, ed. Peter Stuhlmacher (Tübingen: Mohr, 1983), pp. 300–3. 62 64

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6.2.4

The speech of Demetrius

The issue addressed by the speech of Demetrius is fairly straightforward. What is to be done with an individual whose religious discourse is having a detrimental effect on the income of the silversmiths’ guild? The rhetorical situation thus drives the question to be addressed in the speech and this in turn drives the type of speech that Demetrius has to deliver.65 Pinning down the type of speech to one specific species, however, turns out to be problematic. Thus, in his analysis of the speech Marion Soards makes the following conclusion: ‘The address is a combination of epideictic and deliberative rhetoric, although Demetrius narrates the problem without ever proposing a solution.’66 The epideictic (or invective, to be more precise) element is clearly visible: Demetrius criticises Paul for his action of preaching against handmade gods. However, the deliberative aspect is not clear. Nevertheless, the syntax of the speech itself may provide a clue as to its species. The speech is dominated by five verbal forms, two of which introduce matters that were of present concern for the collegium: ἐπίστασθε ὅτι ἐκ ταύτης τῆς ἐργασίας ἡ εὐπορία ἡμῖν ἐστιν (v. 25b). θεωρεῖτε καὶ ἀκούετε ὅτι οὐ μόνον Ἐφέσου ἀλλὰ σχεδòν πάσης τῆς Ἀσίας ὁ Παῦλος οὗτος πείσας μετέστησεν ἱκανòν ὄχλον, λέγων ὅτι οὐκ εἰσὶν θεοὶ οἱ διὰ χειρῶν γινόμενοι (v. 26).

1. 2.

The above structure underlines present67 worries, thereby highlighting the epideictic aspect of the speech. It highlights this by speaking of the current damage that Paul was inflicting on pagan beliefs and possibly, in the future, on the temple of Artemis itself.68 Epideictic, as we know, was primarily concerned with issues of the present as opposed to judicial rhetoric (past) or deliberative rhetoric 65

On the connection between narrative situation and type of rhetoric, see especially Lloyd Bitzer, ‘The Rhetorical Situation’, Philosophy and Rhetoric 1 (1968): 1–14. 66 Soards, The Speeches in Acts, p. 103. 67 ‘Present’ in the ‘customary’ or ‘iterative’ sense. From an aspectual perspective, it takes an ‘internal’ view: ‘The internal view of the present aspect pictures not a specific occurrence seen as it is taking place, but the continuance of a process or state in a broader time-frame or, more commonly, the repeated occurrence of an action or state over a stretch of time’ (Buist Fanning, Verbal Aspect in New Testament Greek [Oxford: Clarendon Press,1990], p. 206). 68 Aristotle, Rh. Al. 3.20, states concerning epideictic, ‘Generally speaking, you will be able to amplify and minimize … by the following method: first, by showing … that many good or bad results have been caused by a certain person’s actions.’ The translation is E.S. Forster’s in The Complete Works of Aristotle, Vol. 2, ed. Jonathan Barnes (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1984).

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(future): ‘The epideictic orator is, properly speaking, concerned with the present, since all men praise or blame in view of the state of things existing at the time, though they often find it useful also to recall the past and to make guesses at the future.’69 The next three verbal forms, on the other hand, are concerned with the future, both of the guild’s economic stability and of the reputation of Artemis: 1. 2. 3.

κινδυνεύει ἡμῖν τò μέρος εἰς ἀπελεγμòν ἐλθεῖν (v. 27a). [κινδυνεύει] τò τῆς μεγάλης θεᾶς Ἀρτέμιδος ἱερòν εἰς οὐθὲν λογισθῆναι (v. 27b). μέλλειν τε καὶ καθαιρεῖσθαι τῆς μεγαλειότητος αὐτῆς, ἣν ὅλη ἡ Ἀσία καὶ ἡ οἰκουμένη σέβεται (v. 27c).

The impersonal verbs κινδεύω and μέλλω attached to the infinitival constructions have been underlined in order to call attention to the future aspects of the discourse. Such types of verbs, when combined with an infinitive, lent themselves to a futuristic sense.70 Demetrius stresses the possible disaster that may occur if Paul continues his preaching campaign. Implied in these statements was a veiled prompting to action. To summarise, the speech of Demetrius was an unpolished address (in terms of modelling clear, separate parts) which contained mostly epideictic qualities. The epideictic quality is visible in Demetrius’ choice to present the preaching of Paul as an activity that was having an effect up to the time of speaking. In addition, the deeds and character of Paul were assailed: he was portrayed as an enemy of the collegium and of Artemis herself. He created anxiety in the minds of his audience by pointing to the possibility that their trade could come under criticism and that the great goddess Artemis could be robbed of her majesty. No advice was given, but the situation was presented in such a way that the tradesmen may have seen no other option than to push for an ad hoc assembly. Having observed the question, the possible type and the main contours of the speech, it is now the proper time to call attention to

69 Aristotle, Rh. 1.3.4. Translation from W. Rhys Roberts in The Complete Works of Aristotle. See also Kennedy, New Testament Interpretation, pp. 19–20. 70 On which see BDF §292.

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one of its salient literary features, namely, Luke’s use of the speech to voice his own viewpoint through dramatic irony. This is particularly apparent in v. 26, which reads as follows: ‘You also see and hear that not only in Ephesus but in almost the whole of Asia this Paul has persuaded and drawn away a considerable number of people by saying that gods made with hands are not gods.’ At the level of text, this statement coming from the mouth of the unbelieving Demetrius is meant to be invective: he was attacking Paul for interfering in the business of shrine-making (which Demetrius projected as a pious act since it was done for the majesty of Artemis) and attempted to arouse the tradesmen into action. However, what was meant as invective against Paul at the level of text may have quite a different result at the level of subtext, that is, with the reading audience of Luke–Acts. Most commentators call attention to this possibility. Haenchen, for example, states the following: Paul’s success can hardly be better described – and that from the mouth of an enemy! … this very circumstance, that Demetrius cries out against Paul as a businessman, proves to the reader how genuinely the force of the Pauline mission makes itself felt, how deeply it shook the whole of heathenism.71 Through dramatic irony, therefore, the words of Demetrius accent Paul’s successful mission and the future possibility that the cult of Artemis runs the danger of being destroyed. Ben Witherington, however, has called the above conclusion an exaggeration due to the fact that the statements concerning Paul’s success come from the mouth of an unreliable character. He states, ‘Demetrius is not being portrayed as a credible speaker’.72 This is a perceptive literary-critical observation that previous scholars have not taken into account in their reading of the speech. Does the narrator expect the reader to take at face value statements from a character who has already been portrayed as false? Witherington’s words further serve as a corrective to those commentators who state that through the speech of Demetrius Luke was affirming the ruin of the Artemis cult. Demetrius, in fact, was only saying that there existed a future danger for the complete demise of the Artemis cult. To be sure, the speech indicated that already many had turned from idolatry, and, given the widespread fame of Artemis in Ephesus and the province of Asia Minor, it may be implied that even some of her 71

Haenchen, Acts, p. 578 (emphasis added).

72

Witherington, Acts, p. 592.

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followers had already repented: the success of Paul’s mission is not being denied. However, Demetrius’ point seems to be that, while the preaching of Paul had not yet taken its full effect on the temple of Artemis, nevertheless if Paul’s previous success in other areas was any indication, it most certainly would bring down Artemis’ temple.73 Given Witherington’s observations about the unreliability of the character of Demetrius, must we then conclude that the stress on Paul’s success is simply a ‘classic example of fear-mongering by means of exaggeration’?74 I would argue, rather, that by recognising Demetrius’ unreliability the case for dramatic irony is actually confirmed. In order to demonstrate this, I set the following three texts side by side, two of which come from Luke’s own narration and the other coming from the speech of Demetrius: Luke states: πάντας τοὺς κατοικοῦντας τὴν Ἀσίαν ἀκοῦσαι τòν λόγον τοῦ κυρίου, Ἰουδαίους τε καὶ Ἕλληνας (19.10). Luke states: τοῦτο δὲ ἐγένετο γνωστòν πᾶσιν Ἰουδαίοις τε καὶ Ἕλλησιν τοῖς κατοικοῦσιν τὴν Ἔφεσον, καὶ ἐπέπεσεν φόβος ἐπὶ πάντας αὐτούς, καὶ ἐμεγαλύνετο τò ὄνομα τοῦ κυρίου Ἰησοῦ (19.17). Demetrius θεωρεῖτε καὶ ἀκούετε ὅτι οὐ μόνον Ἐφέσου states: ἀλλὰ σχεδòν πάσης τῆς Ἀσίας ὁ Παῦλος οὗτος πείσας μετέστησεν ἱκανòν ὄχλον (= πᾶς of previous two verses) λέγων ὅτι οὐκ εἰσὶν θεοὶ οἱ διὰ χειρῶν γινόμενοι (19.26) The similarities between what Luke directly narrates and what Demetrius speaks have been underlined in order to show their striking correspondences. If the character of Demetrius is unreliable, how is it then that he seems to be affirming precisely what Luke has already said, viz. that Paul’s ministry has had a wide-ranging effect in Ephesus and Asia? But this, in fact, is quintessential dramatic irony: an ‘ignorant’ or hubristic character makes a statement that has deeper significance than what he or she realizes. Demetrius, therefore, is an unreliable character 73 See also Strelan, Paul, Artemis, and the Jews, p. 152. However, Strelan engages in some very questionable exegesis in order to say that Luke does not at all claim that the cult of Artemis had been affected by the preaching of Paul. For a critique, see Schnabel, Urchristliche Mission, pp. 1173–4. See also John Barclay’s review of Strelan’s work in ‘Review of R. Strelan, Paul, Artemis, and the Jews in Ephesus, JTS 49 (1998): 260–3. 74 Witherington, Acts, p. 591.

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and attempted to exaggerate. Luke’s readers, however, who have heard directly from the reliable narrator that Paul’s ministry had affected Ephesus and all of Asia, realise that Demetrius was saying more than he knew. Acknowledging, therefore, the unreliability of the character of Demetrius actually reinforces the dramatic ironic character of his speech. It lends dramatic power to Luke’s persuasive operation in this text. To my knowledge, this observation has not been made by previous scholars. In conclusion, I have argued that the question addressed by the speech had to do with the success of Paul’s mission as it bore on the economic stability of Demetrius and his guild. I proposed that the speech was epideictic rhetoric, which censured Paul through emotional language, and which implied that the tradesmen needed to take some action. At the level of subtext, however, I pointed out that Demetrius’ speech, by means of dramatic irony, was employed by Luke to emphasise Paul’s successful mission. Thus, what was invective at the level of text turned out to be an encomium at the level of subtext. In this manner Luke employed the speech of an opponent further to bolster the message he was sending in the Ephesian narrative.75 My principal contribution to the reading of the speech of Demetrius, however, came in my observation that an acknowledgement of its unreliable source confirmed rather than weakened its dramatic ironic character. This showed that Demetrius was unwittingly supporting the point of view of the narrator, the sine qua non of dramatic irony. The reason why the readers would have known that Demetrius had said more than he realised rested on the fact that Luke himself had already narrated Paul’s missionary success in Ephesus and all of Asia. The irony, thereby, was shown to be stable.76 6.2.5

The speech of the Town Clerk

The rhetorical situation that called for this speech was the confused and disordered illegal assembly which had gathered in the theatre of Ephesus. The situation was disordered enough when the crowds first entered the theatre (vv. 29–32); when the Jew Alexander attempted to 75 Hans-Josef Klauck, Magic and Paganism in Early Christianity: The World of the Acts of the Apostles, trans. Brian McNeil (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2000), p. 110: ‘Even Demetrius, the foe of Christianity, bears witness that it has already filled all Asia Minor.’ 76 ‘There is further subtlety to the two speeches because both agree partly – but only partly – with the narrator’s values and beliefs’ (Tannehill, Narrative Unity, Vol. 2, p. 244).

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offer an apologia, however, it reached a new high pitch with the crowd crying out for about two hours: ‘Great is Artemis of the Ephesians!’77 The rhetorical situation to be addressed by the speech of the Town Clerk, therefore, was concerned with the quieting of a crowd which may have been on the verge of being accused of sedition and the suggestion of what future course to take. Had the seditious situation continued, the result could have been devastating: the loss of the local Ephesian assembly to govern its internal civic affairs.78 Consequently, the speech needed to address what future course the silversmith’s guild was to take in order to avoid a riot in an irregular meeting of the ἐκκλησία. This situation, along with the different sections of the speech, makes it certain that the species of the discourse is deliberative.79 As opposed to the hasty, emotional speech of Demetrius, which lacked clear rhetorical arrangement, the oration of the Town Clerk exhibits excellent polish.80 As a result, it is possible clearly to distinguish its different elements. The exordium is found in v. 35. As we noted in the speech of Gamaliel, the exordium of a deliberative speech attempted to secure the goodwill of the hearers.81 The Town Clerk offered an elegant exordium by way of a rhetorical question in v. 35: ‘Citizens of Ephesus, who is there that does not know that the city of the Ephesians is the temple keeper of the great Artemis and of the statue that fell from heaven?’ This hyperbolic hypothetical question may have immediately put the hearers at ease. The Town Clerk was attempting to point out to his audience that there was no reason for the hasty assembly given the fact that everyone knew that Ephesus and Artemis had a special relationship and that the latter was

77

Commentators have been puzzled about (1) the reason why Luke included this intermezzo concerning the Jew Alexander, and (2) what precisely the apology was that he was going to offer: was the apology going to be in favour of Paul (because both were monotheists) or against Paul (‘although Paul is a monotheist, his sect is not part of Judaism’)? Barrett, Acts, Vol. 2, p. 934, reaches in my opinion a judicious conclusion: ‘perhaps [Luke] had his own reason for making the addition [of Alexander]. A probable consequence might be that Alexander either was at the time of the riot, or subsequently became, a Christian.’ 78 The Romans, by the time of the Principate, did not need much persuading in order to cancel the local assemblies of Hellenistic cities: ‘The city assemblies were on the way out. Roman policy aimed over a long period at the elimination of the democratic element, both in the assemblies and in the councils … No such fate has yet overtaken the civic assembly at Ephesus, but the town clerk has his fears’ (Sherwin-White, Roman Society and Roman Law, p. 85). He cites Dio Chrysostom’s Or. 46.14 and 48.1–3, 38, as examples of the consequences that a city could incur if found guilty of sedition. 79 Thus also Kennedy, New Testament Interpretation, p. 132. 80 Cf. Witherington, Acts, pp. 597–8. 81 Aristotle, Rh 3.14.7; Rh. Al. 29.1.

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divine.82 The implication is that it is not even worth descending to the point of a riot in order to argue with those who would claim otherwise. Based on his persuasive introduction, the Town Clerk methodically moved to his two principal suggestions, that is, the propositio.83 That these were proposals is clearly visible by the use of δεῖ in v. 36, δέον ἐστὶν ὑμᾶς κατεσταλμένους ὑπάρχειν καὶ μηδὲν προπετὲς πράσσειν and the imperative ἐγκαλείτωσαν in v. 38. The crowd should be silent and do nothing rash: in other words, it was to stop at once this riotous and irregular assembly. The second proposal in vv. 38–9 reads as follows: εἰ μὲν οὖν Δημήτριος καὶ οἱ σὺν αὐτῷ τεχνῖται ἔχουσι πρός τινα λόγον, ἀγοραῖοι ἄγονται καὶ ἀνθύπατοί εἰσιν· ἐγκαλείτωσαν ἀλλήλοις. εἰ δέ τι περαιτέρω ἐπιζητεῖτε, ἐν τῇ ἐννόμῳ ἐκκλησίᾳ ἐπιλυθήσεται. That is, if Demetrius and his guild wanted to pursue their complaint further, they should have waited for a regular assembly meeting where their case could be heard before the ἀνθύπατοι. In the probatio the speaker offered arguments to persuade the audience. The argument offered for the necessity to disband the crowd is introduced by the causal γάρ of v. 37: ἠγάγετε γὰρ τοὺς ἄνδρας τούτους οὔτε ἱεροσύλους οὔτε βλασφημοῦντας τὴν θεὰν ἡμῶν. The Town Clerk stated that Gaius and Aristarchus (more than likely Paul is also implied) were not guilty of temple robbery, a heinous offence in antiquity. Neither were they guilty of blaspheming against Artemis. In actual fact, however, the Town Clerk was being rather generous: the statements made by Paul (and probably the missionaries) against hand-made gods could very well have been constructed as a denigration 82 διοπετοῦς. BDAG s.v. ‘lit. “fallen from Zeus” or “the sky”’. The Town Clerk was appealing to the prevalent motif of the image of a deity which had fallen from the sky. See especially Dionysius of Halicarnassus 2.66. Concerning the fallen image of Artemis, see Bruce, Acts, p. 378, n. 79. But cf. Pliny, Natural History 16.79.213–15, where Pliny referred to a certain Mucianus who had recently seen the image and declared it to be made of wood. I owe this reference to C.J. Hemer, The Letters to the Seven Churches of Asia in their Local Setting (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1986), p. 227, n. 39. 83 Lawrence Wills, ‘The Form of the Sermon in Hellenistic Judaism and Early Christianity’, HTR 77 (1984): 277–99, has argued that the sermon of Hellenistic Judaism and early Christianity exhibited a pattern of exempla/conclusion/exhortation which is also visible in the speech of the Town Clerk, particularly in the shift from the indicative of v. 35 to the exhortation in v. 36. However, Wills’ definition of exempla as ‘authoritative evidence adduced to commend the points that follow …’ (p. 279), does not quite fit as an exemplum here, since there is no appeal to written tradition. It is better to see here an example of deliberative rhetoric, where the author often moved from the proem to the propositio.

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of Artemis.84 This was the point made previously by Demetrius in his speech. The consequences for Paul and his companions could have been disastrous; one thinks of the accusations against the Christians as atheists towards the end of the first century.85 Barrett thus states concerning the wording of the Town Clerk, ‘he is putting the best possible appearance on the matter so as to quieten the crowd’.86 Therefore, the argument of the Town Clerk was not in itself the most persuasive. It appears that it was primarily the ethos – to use rhetorical language – or character of the γραμματεύς that was the most potent ingredient in the success of this deliberative speech. The probatio in v. 37 is also important for our understanding of the contribution of this passage to the overall narrative of Acts. The reason is that it echoes one of the principal motifs encountered throughout Acts, namely, that the missionaries were innocent of Roman lawbreaking. It is probable, therefore, that through this speech Luke was attempting to advance the apologetic theme that the Christians were not a threat to law and order in the Roman Empire. This does not mean, however, that the Town Clerk was declaring Christianity to be a religio licita; his statements in vv. 35–6 would speak against such an interpretation. His goal was rather to maintain the peace in the city so as to avoid unnecessary Roman intervention which may have placed the freedom of the city in danger. Thus, while Witherington is correct in criticising Ramsay87 for saying that the speech is a direct apologia in order to defend the innocence of the Christians,88 it is nevertheless probable that in an indirect fashion the speech may serve the function of accentuating the Christians’ blamelessness. In the peroratio section of the speech, the Town Clerk attempted to stir the emotions of the hearers. He did not try to rouse the anger or pity of the crowd towards the accused or the accusers. Rather, he attempted to put the emotion of fear in the assembly’s mind. His conclusion struck a paradoxical chord when he stated that, should the riot continue, it was the city which would be opened to charges of sedition. This is paradoxical because at the beginning of the meeting See also Shauf, Theology as History, p. 256 and the literature cited there. On Christians as atheists, see especially Marta Sordi, The Christians and the Roman Empire, trans. Annabel Bedini (London: Routledge, 1988), pp. 43–53, and the primary sources cited there. 86 Barrett, Acts, Vol. 2, p. 936. 87 W.M. Ramsay, St. Paul the Traveller and Roman Citizen (London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1895), p. 282. 88 Witherington, Acts, p. 600, n. 171. 84 85

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the city held the position of accuser; now, because of the riot, the city may end up as the accused. The speech was successful. We read at the end of v. 40 that the Town Clerk was able peacefully to disband the assembly. I conclude this section on the speech of the Town Clerk by noting its function at the levels of text and subtext. Within the movement of the plot of Acts, the speech of the Town Clerk performs the act of securing the safe exit of Paul and his companions from Ephesus to Macedonia, Achaia, and eventually Rome. In order to appreciate this, we must recall the programmatic statement of 19.21: ‘Now after these things had been accomplished, Paul resolved in the Spirit to go through Macedonia and Achaia, and then to go on to Jerusalem. He said, “After I have gone there, I must also see Rome”’. As the reader journeys through the latter parts of the narrative at Ephesus, this important statement looms in the background. The question that is central to the narrative is thus: will the divine plan to reach Jerusalem and Rome succeed or will it be thwarted by this perilous assembly? It is at the high point of the narrative – when Paul’s companions are facing a furious assembly which may also come after him – that the Town Clerk delivers his speech. The discourse is not primarily meant to prove to the crowd that Christianity was a religio licita; at the moment that did not seem to be of major concern. What was significant was that the riot be quelled so as to avoid Roman intervention and possibly, if the Clerk was one of the Asiarchs, to secure the safety of Paul. The speech is successful, and we read in 20.1: ‘After the uproar had ceased, Paul sent for the disciples; and after encouraging them and saying farewell, he left for Macedonia.’ Thus, the speech of the outsider Town Clerk is to be seen as the instrument securing the fulfilment of the divine plan set out in 19.21. If the above comments are correct, then the strategy of dramatic irony is also present here. If the irony in the speech of Demetrius was related to the statements that he made, the irony in the speech of the Town Clerk rested in the effects produced by the speech. Thus, the author has planted the necessary clues so that the audience would recognise the irony of the event: for the characters in the story, the goal of the Clerk’s speech was the prevention of Roman intervention. For the readers, on the other hand, aware as they are of 19.21 with its programmatic statement, the speech may have been seen as the instrument that secured the continuation of the spread of the word. Thus we have two of the components of dramatic irony: the two-storey framework of meaning and dissonance between two levels. Further, the

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Town Clerk was unaware that the Spirit was pushing the divine mission out of Ephesus and into Jerusalem and Rome as stated in 19.21. Thus, while he was labouring to avoid a charge of sedition, he did not know that his efforts were ultimately aiding the expansion of the gospel. This is the third element of dramatic irony: the unwitting victim. This theme is not a new development in Acts. We saw in previous chapters that the speeches of Gamaliel and the proconsul Gallio all served the purpose of conflict resolution between the apostles or Paul (and his associates) and their enemies with the result that the missionaries were able to continue their charge of gospel preaching. In addition to showing how the speech of an outsider helped in the expansion of the gospel, Luke has also used the speech to underscore one of the key motifs of Acts: that the Jesus movement did not present a seditious threat to Roman law and society. This is specifically stated by the Town Clerk in 19.37. This is the same motif of the speech of Gallio as we saw in the previous chapter. 6.3

Conclusion

I consider it significant that in a section where Luke narrates Paul’s most successful mission, he manages to include two speeches of outsiders. This may indicate that the activities and actions of outsiders are indeed important to the framework of this particular narrative and probably to his overall project. As was the case in previous chapters, the speeches of outsiders in Ephesus were steeped in dramatic irony. I argued that the speech of the Town Clerk was the means through which Paul and his companions were rescued from an angry mob in order to continue the Spiritprompted mission to Jerusalem and Rome. Unbeknown to the Town Clerk himself, he, an outsider, was facilitating the spread of the Christian mission. To be sure, it could be argued that his speech in favour of the innocence of the missionaries was quite deliberate; being the chief civic official, he did not want a rebellion on his hands. Therefore, he reached the verdict that the missionaries were not breaking the law primarily because of self-interest. Or, it could be argued that possibly being one of the Asiarchs, the Town Clerk held similar sympathetic feelings towards Paul and his companions. Both of these explanations may very well be accurate. That, however, does not negate the irony that an outsider was facilitating the culmination of the Christian mission to Jerusalem and Rome. Certainly the Town Clerk may have delivered his speech in order to maintain civic

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harmony and thus preserve his own honour as a capable γραμματεύς. If anything, however, the very fact that he intended one thing through his speech and yet another came to pass is one of the essential marks of dramatic irony. The situation thus begins to look very much like previous episodes. Gamaliel advocated the release of the apostles not because he believed their message or because he was sympathetic toward them, rather, he did not wish to open the door for God’s judgement against him and his colleagues if the Christian movement turned out to be from God. He did not wish the assembly to be θεομάχοι. What he did not know was that it was precisely through his intervention that the gospel would continue to spread (5.42). Gallio viewed the charges against Paul at Corinth as reflecting intra-Jewish debates. What he did not foresee was that it was through his ruling that the promise of the risen Jesus to Paul (‘Do not be afraid, speak … for I have many people in this city’ [18.9–10]) came to fruition. The cumulative effect of these occurrences impresses upon the mind of the reader that the results brought about by the speeches of outsiders are not random, occasional intrusions into a narrative otherwise not preoccupied with the sayings and doings of these characters. Rather, the impression is created that Luke was doing something very specific by including the speeches of outsiders in his work. In this respect, we may hark back to an observation made under the characters section of this chapter. We noted there that Acts 19.23–40 was an anomalous pericope, the reason being that in this section, the supposed climax of Paul’s ministry, neither the apostle nor his companions was very visible. Rather, we noted that characters such as Demetrius, the guild of silversmiths, the Asiarchs, the crowd, and the Town Clerk dominated the entire scene. The reader may thus have reached the false conclusion that the spread of the gospel had come to a halt. And yet precisely the opposite happens. Demetrius, ironically, provides an encomium of Paul’s successful ministry. It is not an exaggeration to say that in no other place in Acts is such a grand description of Paul’s missionary achievement given. The Town Clerk himself, through his speech, ironically provided a safe path out of Ephesus so that Paul would reach the appointed destinations of Jerusalem and Rome and also proclaimed the innocence of the Christians. As in previous chapters, therefore, we can see Luke employing the extremely dramatic tactic of using the speeches of outsiders to underscore his own theology. The following chapter, the last in my exegetical assessment of Acts, investigates the (written) speech of Claudius Lysias as well as the speeches of Tertullus and Festus.

7 T H E S P E E C H E S OF C L A U D I U S L Y S I A S , TERTULLUS, AND FESTUS

This is the final chapter in my exegetical investigation of the speeches of outsiders. In the previous three chapters I demonstrated that the following pattern emerged with respect to Luke’s use of the speeches of outsiders: non-Christians, by means of their speech, were the instruments through which the spread of the word was facilitated. In addition, some of the non-Christian speeches served as the voice of the narrator in affirming the legitimacy of the Jesus movement. The outsiders, we observed, were not consciously performing these acts of gospel forwarding and legitimation. Rather, the narrator had introduced sufficient clues in the narrative to allow the reader to conclude that these characters did not realise the wider significance of their statements and actions. In other words, the speech-acts of the outsiders were saturated with dramatic irony. By exploiting this literary technique, Luke was able to accent his own theological/historiographic convictions through the unlikely channel of the speeches of outsiders. We shall explore in this chapter whether a similar ploy is used by Luke in the speeches of Lysias, Tertullus, and Festus. In this manner I bring to a close my exegetical discussion of the speeches of outsiders in Acts. 7.1

Context

The outsider speeches encountered in the previous two chapters occurred in the context of Paul’s itinerant mission. Paul and his associates were able to move about freely in the eastern parts of the empire disseminating the message concerning Jesus. To be sure, he was once detained at Philippi, and the possibility of arrest surfaced at Thessalonica, Corinth, and Ephesus. Nevertheless, Paul remained free. The current chapter of Acts, on the other hand, finds Paul detained indefinitely, first at Jerusalem and then at Caesarea. If the 189

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reader had experienced tension when reading Paul’s previous narrow escapes from prolonged imprisonment, then it could be said that the tension reaches a high point in Acts 21–8. However, the reader knows from previous episodes (5.17–42; 12.5–17; 16.25–34) that calamitous situations have not hindered the continuation of the mission. The context of imprisonment, therefore, raises the expectation of the reader to be on the alert for God’s intervention. This is the context of the three speeches of outsiders to be studied in this chapter. It will be argued that Luke shapes the narratives and the speeches in such a way that he leads his readers to the following conclusion: the outsiders themselves, unwittingly, were the very catalysts which ensured that the divine mission reached its appointed destination of Rome. 7.2

The narrative and written speech of Claudius Lysias (23.12–35)

7.2.1

Setting

The main setting highlighted by Luke in this section of Acts is the Antonia fortress,1 where Paul was taken initially for coercitio and then remained a short period of time for the purpose of protection. The information that we possess concerning the Antonia fortress comes primarily from Josephus.2 A helpful description is given in the Jewish War: The tower of Antonia lay at the angle where two porticoes, the western and the northern, of the first court of the temple met; it was built upon a rock fifty cubits high and on all sides precipitous. It was the work of king Herod and a crowning exhibition of the innate grandeur of his genius … The interior resembled a palace in its spaciousness and appointments, being divided into apartments of every description and 1 Luke does not use the name Ἀντωνία, simply calling the location in question a παρεμβολή (BDAG, s.v. ‘barracks/headquarters’). However, the proximity of the location to the temple leaves it without doubt that he was referring to the Antonia. See further above. 2 I say ‘primarily’ because it is probable that the Tower of Hananel referred to in Neh. 3.1, 12.39, and Jer. 31.38 stood on the same hill where the Antonia would eventually be built. For arguments in favour of this view, see L.H. Vincent, ‘L’Antonia, palais primitif d’Hérode’, RB 61 (1954): 87–107, who believes that the hill is also referred to in the Letter of Aristeas as an ‘acropolis’. See also Jack Finegan, The Archaeology of the New Testament: The Life of Jesus and Beginning of the Early Church (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1992), pp. 195–6.

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for every purpose, including cloisters, baths and broad courtyards for the accommodation of troops; so that from its possession of all conveniences it seemed a town, from its magnificence a palace.3 The castle was originally called Baris,4 but was renamed Antonia in honour of Mark Antony, who was a friend of Herod.5 The fortress, which served as protection for the temple, was razed to the ground by Titus in 70 CE (Josephus, War 6.93). Luke’s account coincides well with the description of Josephus. From the action described in Acts 21.31 he gives the impression that there was a cohort stationed near the temple. Josephus states, ‘a Roman cohort was permanently there [the Antonia], and at the festivals took up positions in arms around the porticoes to watch the people and repress any insurrectionary movement’.6 This would explain how the rumour of Paul’s beating reached the tribune so quickly. Luke also mentioned that Paul had to be carried up the steps into the fortress (21.35) from which he also delivered his apologia to the Jerusalem crowd (21.40). Josephus equally refers to stairs: ‘At the point where it impinged upon the porticoes of the temple, there were stairs leading down to both of them, by which the guards descended …’ (Josephus, War 5.243) These observations make it virtually certain that Luke’s παρεμβολή is the Antonia fortress. The above setting influences the mood of the narrative in the following way: it most likely affected the appreciation of the persona of Paul with regard to his social status. Moreover, the mention of Paul being held in the Antonia contributes to the dynamics of the plot of Acts. First, I would offer that the mention of Paul’s chaining and subsequent detainment at the fortress would have sent particular social signals to the readers of Acts; some of the actions done to Paul could have damaged his social respectability. For example, we read in 21.33 that en route to the Antonia he was bound with two chains. The act of chaining, according to the Digest, was originally a punishment imposed on those of very low social status, namely

Josephus, War 5.238–41. See also War 1.401. Josephus, War 1.75. Vincent, ‘L’Antonia’, p. 88, believes that the name is a simple adaptation of the Hebrew ‫ברה‬. 5 Josephus, War 15.409. See also Ant. 18.91–2. 6 Josephus, War 5.244. Josephus uses the more general term τάγμα to refer to the cohort while Luke uses the more military specific σπεῖρα. 3 4

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slaves.7 Garnsey has argued that individuals of high social status were not normally chained.8 To be bound, therefore, would be a permanent stain on the all-important honour of a person, suggesting that the individual was a malefactor.9 Rapske cites the examples of Sejanus and Vitellius as they were shamefully paraded in chains before the public prior to their imprisonments.10 Not only was Paul chained but, secondly, he was detained in the Antonia. To be sure, the action of the tribune in arresting Paul was not punitive: his goal was, through coercion, to get at the truth of the cause of the riot. The tribune had attempted to discover the reason for the unrest, but this had proved impossible due to the agitated state of the crowd (21.34). He had then allowed Paul to address the crowd from the stairs of the Antonia, presumably for the benefit of obtaining a clue as to the cause of the dispute. However, not only did Paul speak in Aramaic, but also his speech was cut short by another outburst from the crowd (22.22–3). A more effective approach was therefore needed in order to discover the reason for the disturbance.11 Thus, although his custody at the fortress was not in itself an indication of culpability, the shameful image of Paul bound and being carried to the barracks would not be quickly erased from the memories of the audience in Jerusalem. The setting of the current pericope not only affects the character of Paul, but also the plot. Detention has figured on three previous occasions in the book of Acts (5.17–20; 12.5–17; 16.23–34). In the first of these, all the apostles were imprisoned due to their incessant proclamation of Jesus as risen. I had occasion to note within the chapter on the speech of Gamaliel that the incarceration of the apostles instilled the narrative with a sense of anxiety: those who were commanded to be witnesses to the ends of the earth (1.8) were now behind bars. The tension was partly resolved when an angel of the Lord freed the apostles and ordered them to continue preaching (5.20). At Philippi, Paul and Silas were imprisoned after what had 7 Digest 48.19.8.13. See in this respect Peter Garnsey, Social Status and Legal Privilege in the Roman Empire (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1970), pp. 150–2. 8 Garnsey, Social Status, p. 151. He gives as evidence the example of Apollonius of Tyana and about fifty other prisoners who possessed great wealth. They were placed in the ‘free prison’ but were not chained. See also Brian Rapske, The Book of Acts in its First Century Setting. Vol. 3. The Book of Acts and Paul in Roman Custody, ed., Bruce Winter (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1994), p. 140. 9 See Matthew L. Skinner, Locating Paul: Places of Custody as Narrative Settings in Acts 21–28 (Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature, 2003), pp. 84–5. 10 Rapske, Paul in Roman Custody, pp. 288–91. 11 Ibid., p. 139.

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been a promising beginning to the mission, highlighted by the conversion of Lydia. Again, therefore, tension was introduced into the narrative: what would happen to the spread of the word now that its preachers had been imprisoned? The tension was resolved by a supernatural earthquake that gave Paul and Silas the opportunity to flee. However, they chose to remain in the prison, where, ironically, the Philippian jailer was gained as a convert (16.30–3). From these examples it is plausible to suggest that the setting of prison plays a particular role in the narrative that Luke constructs. I suggest that prison is presented as an obstacle to the propagation of the gospel. Nevertheless, the introduction of this setting throws into relief God’s ability to counter what would appear to be setbacks to the mission.12 He either sent a deliverer to allow the apostles to continue preaching (5.19) or, ironically, the prison itself became the place of spiritual deliverance (16.30–4).13 Thus, the references to the Antonia fortress in Acts 23.12–35 introduce tension while at the same time raising the readers’ expectations to the possibility that, as in previous cases, God will act to overcome this hurdle. 7.2.2

Characters

7.2.2.1 The Jerusalem Jews The Bild painted by Luke of this stock character14 is wholly disapproving. The portrayal is done entirely through indirect presentation, more specifically through speech: (1) their own, in oratio obliqua as in 23.1215 and oratio recta as in 23.14–15, and (2) through the speech of Paul’s nephew in 23.20–1. The portrait that emerges is that of a group of recalcitrant, violent men who were willing to construct an elaborate and deceptive complot (see especially 23.14–15) in order to kill someone who threatened their religious establishment. Luke

12 Skinner, Locating Paul, p. 94, reaches a similar conclusion: ‘The prisons in these passages serve as obstacles to be overcome, defeated, or transformed so that public ministry of the gospel can continue. This illustrates, of course, the power of God to frustrate and embarrass human resistance.’ 13 Cf. Weaver, Plots of Epiphany, pp. 284–6. 14 23.13 clarifies that it was not the Jewish nation in toto that conspired against Paul, but more precisely ‘more than forty men’. Some Western and Byzantine mss. (Byz, 1409, p48) clarify 23.12 by writing τινὲς τῶν Ἰουδαίων. Manuscript support for the reading supported in NA27, however, is overwhelming: e.g., p74, ‫א‬, A, B. 15 οἱ Ἰουδαῖοι ἀνεθεμάτισαν ἑαυτοὺς λέγοντες μήτε φαγεῖν μήτε πίειν κτλ.

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amplified the perversity of this group of Jews in three ways. First, he called attention to their absolute commitment to kill Paul: they put themselves under an oath neither to eat nor drink until they had killed Paul.16 Secondly, the omniscient narrator allows his readers to hear of the Jews’ crafty plan to draw Paul near to them so as to kill him. Thus, after informing the chief priests and the elders of their intention, they suggested a way to carry out the plot: ‘Now then, you and the council must notify the tribune to bring him down to you, on the pretext that you want to make a more thorough examination of his case. And we are ready to do away with him before he arrives’ (23.15). The form of the ambush itself testifies to their implacability, as it would be very likely that in such a scenario a struggle with the Roman soldiers would have taken place in which lives would have been lost. Lastly, Luke called attention to the Jews’ wickedness by repeating their homicidal intention four times: among themselves (23.12), to the chief priests and elders (23.14–15), through Paul’s nephew (23.20–1), and in Lysias’ letter (23.30). The result is a scathing picture of this group of Jews. As I shall explain under §7.2.3, this representation of the Jerusalem Jews greatly contributes to the movement of the plot in 23.12–35. 7.2.2.2 Paul’s nephew One is hesitant to call the son of Paul’s sister a character, since his appearance in Acts is very brief. In addition, apart from informing the implied reader that the youth was related to Paul, no other details about him are provided by the narrator. Consequently, it may be helpful here to think of Adele Berlin’s ‘degrees of characterisation’, in which continuum Paul’s nephew would fit comfortably as an agent. Berlin states that ‘the agent, about whom nothing is known except what is necessary for the plot; the agent is a function of the plot or part of the setting’.17 In this particular case, the paucity of information regarding Paul’s nephew actually enriches the plot: it is a somewhat insignificant youth who was one of the means by which God delivered

16 Bruce, Acts, p. 431, states that the oath may have included something along the following lines: ‘So may God do to us, and more also, if we eat or drink anything until we have killed Paul.’ For OT parallels, see Johnson, Acts, pp. 403–4. The Mishnah made room for relief of such oaths when they could not be fulfilled (see Barrett, Acts, Vol. 2, p. 1072). 17 Adele Berlin, Poetics and Interpretation of Biblical Narrative (Sheffield: Almond Press, 1983), p. 32.

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Paul from the Jews’ ambush. This veiled character is thus used to unveil God’s omniscience and power to protect Paul.18 7.2.2.3 Claudius Lysias The projection of the above personage follows ancient convention in representing an individual’s character through a combination of action and speech.19 Lysias is depicted as a man of decisive action: when word reached the barracks that a disturbance had broken out, he ‘immediately’ (Luke is explicit, using ἐξαυτῆς) went to the temple and attempted to bring order to the chaotic situation (21.31–2). He took the initiative of bringing Paul before the Sanhedrin in order to ascertain precisely what charges were being brought against him, that is, he performed the act of cognitio (22.30). When Paul’s nephew disclosed the complot of the Jews, he counteracted by organizing a retinue to escort Paul on his way to Caesarea and penning a letter describing the situation to Felix (23.22–5). The pace of the narrative quickens in this last section, giving the impression that Lysias acted swiftly. The characterisation of Lysias insofar as actions are concerned would thus seem to be largely positive.20 It is true that a speedy dispatching of Paul may have been motivated by other factors than just a strong sense of legal responsibility: the tribune may have wanted such a controversial prisoner off his hands as quickly as possible. Nevertheless, the fact remains that he did act quickly and legally, an improvement on Felix, who left Paul in custody for a long period hoping to receive a bribe (24.25–6). While Lysias’ portrait as coloured by his actions would seem to be favourable, a conflicting picture emerges when his words are taken 18 On the relationship between character and plot, see further Darr, On Character Building, pp. 38–9. 19 Gowler, Host, Guest, Enemy, and Friend, p. 171, states concerning ancient literature: ‘Traits are displayed or exemplified, not catalogued, and readers can ponder the further implications of those traits.’ The way that these traits are displayed is largely through speech and action. On action as being a genuine expression of one’s character, see Stephen Halliwell, ‘Traditional Greek Conceptions of Character’, in Characterization and Individuality in Greek Literature, ed. Christopher Pelling (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1990), pp. 45, 51–6. 20 At least this is the case from the point of view of normative Roman criminal procedure. The attempted scourging of Paul described in 22.24–9 was a perfectly lawful practice (coercitio). See also Richard J. Cassidy, Society and Politics in the Acts of the Apostles (New York: Orbis Books, 1987), p. 97. The tribune’s respect for Roman law is evident when he discovers that Paul is a Roman citizen and decides not to carry out the beating. But see further above for a more complete picture of Lysias.

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into consideration, particularly the letter in 23.26–30.21 The reason for this is the stark discrepancy and omission that is visible when comparing Lysias’ actions as described in 21.31–6 and 22.22–9 to the contents of his letter. First, Lysias twisted the truth of the events by stating in v. 27 that he ‘rescued’ Paul. The term used by the tribune is ἐξαιρέω, which semantic domain excludes what Lysias actually did, namely, arrest Paul due to his assumption that he was the notorious Egyptian. The second way in which Lysias distorted the truth was his intimation that he rescued Paul because he had discovered that the latter was Roman.22 Luke’s direct narration, on the other hand, made it very clear that the tribune found out about Paul’s status only later on. Lysias’ misrepresentation of the events is also apparent in an important omission, that is, his near flogging of Paul in order to coerce from him the reason for the temple riot. Nothing was said of this in the letter, thus giving the impression that he had discovered Paul’s status in some other way. By observing both the actions and speech of Claudius Lysias, one can conclude, with most commentators, that the character of Lysias is a ‘realistic’ one, displaying both positive and negative traits. 7.2.3

Plot

The plot of Acts 23.12–35 runs as follows: after Paul had been brought back to the barracks subsequent to his meeting with the Sanhedrin, more than forty Jews concocted a plot to ambush and kill him. The complot included the chief priests and elders, who were instructed to request another hearing with Paul in order to conduct a more thorough examination of his case. However, the Jews were going to wait in ambush so as to assail Paul before he reached the Sanhedrin. Luke reports (without much specification) that Paul’s nephew heard of this conspiracy and reported it to the tribune Claudius Lysias. The tribune moved swiftly to offset the conspiracy, sending Paul to Caesarea with a large number of soldiers. He composed a letter to the governor Felix explaining the reason why he was

21 Since I shall have more to say about the letter, my comments here are limited to the impingement of the letter on the character of Claudius Lysias. 22 μαθὼν ὅτι Ῥωμαῖός ἐστιν. The aorist participle μαθὼν denotes action antecedent to the main verb. This conclusion is derived not only from the grammar, but also from the context: it would not have been particularly meritorious for Lysias to say that he ‘rescued’ someone unless that person was of some importance, i.e., a Roman citizen.

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dispatching Paul to him. The pericope ends with Felix receiving Paul’s case and keeping him under guard in Herod’s barracks. In his otherwise very perceptive comments concerning the different elements of this story, Haenchen suggests that its main purpose was preparatory. He states, ‘Luke has developed this scene to extraordinary breadth. Its compass far surpasses its significance.’23 According to Haenchen, the principal aim of 23.12–35 is to put all the pieces in play for the remainder of the narrative: ‘Thus all the characters in the action have taken their positions: Rome … as the benevolent protecting power, the [Jerusalem] council as the enemy resolved to stop at nothing. Between the two stands Paul. What will become of him?’24 While I would agree that tension and prolepsis are major ingredients in the texture of this narrative, it is reductionist to insist that the pericope is merely preparatory.25 The reason for this observation is my proposal that one of the foundational theological/narratival features of Acts, namely, the intervention of God in order to ensure that the gospel reaches its appointed destination, is also present here. I would suggest, in fact, that the main idea of this passage is that the risen Jesus, in an ironic manner, worked to deliver his servant Paul in order that he might fulfil his appointed task of gospel preaching in Rome.26 Further, I suggest that – as in previous episodes – the words and actions of an outsider stand in the crux of this movement of the plot, serving as a means through which the divine will is accomplished. I propose that Luke distils this thought by narrating the following: (1) the repetition of the Jewish desire to assassinate Paul, (2) the night vision of Jesus recorded in 23.11, and (3) the letter of Claudius Lysias. This last point will be unpacked under a different section. 7.2.3.1 The repetition of the Jewish conspiracy In speaking of the triple account of Saul’s conversion in Acts, Daniel Marguerat makes the following keen observation: ‘When a scholar Haenchen, Acts, p. 649. 24 Ibid., p. 650. Cf. also Barrett’s views on the pericope in Acts, Vol. 2, p. 1070: ‘It is hard to see any theological motive in the paragraph beyond the conviction that Paul is a better Jew – both in theology and in mores – than the official representatives of Judaism, and that the Lord protects his own.’ 26 Similarly Johnson, Acts, p. 408, ‘Luke is showing how God was making it possible for Paul, in fulfilment of his vision, to “bear witness as well in Rome” (23:11), by extricating Paul from his Jewish enemies’. 23 25

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responds to the question of why there are three accounts of Saul’s conversion, one is able to identify the methodological orientation that governs his/her work. The biopsy is infallible.’27 When facing an element of repetition in biblical texts, those scholars whose method is primarily historical-critical (form, source, and redaction criticism), would often focus their exposition on the possible sources behind the finished product. Since biblical narrative often repeats an event or speech either verbatim or by introducing variations, scholars were often fixated on speculation regarding the supposed sources that provided the skeleton to the narrative. As a result of conjecturing on these sources, scholars often failed to appreciate the rhetorical effect on the reader that repetition was meant to achieve. With the application of narrative criticism, however, more attention can be given to the use of repetition in the construction of plot.28 Thus, it has been suggested that redundancy may be employed by a narrator in order to emphasise particular aspects of the story, construct characters, and slow the pace of the narrative.29 These observations are pertinent to the pericope at hand. The oath of the group of Jews who want to kill Paul is mentioned four times in 23.12–35. I suggest that the purpose of this replication is twofold: to highlight the grave danger in which Paul was found and to reduce the pace of the narrative so as to introduce suspense.30 First, Luke wished to give his readers the impression that Paul’s life was at great risk. Not only did he mention the plan to kill Paul four times, but also on three of those occasions he included the severe oath under which the would-be assassins had bound themselves. Thus he reported: οἱ Ἰουδαῖοι ἀνεθεμάτισαν ἑαυτοὺς λέγοντες μήτε φαγεῖν μήτε πίειν ἕως οὗ ἀποκτείνωσιν τòν Παῦλον (v. 12). The plotting Jews themselves disclosed to the chief priests and elders: ἀναθέματι Marguerat, The First Christian Historian, p. 179. On the OT use of repetition, see Meir Sternberg, The Poetics of Biblical Narrative: Ideological Literature and the Drama of Reading (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1985), pp. 365–440. Sternberg’s views on repetition have been followed by most NT narrative critics. 29 See, e.g., Bar-Efrat, Narrative Art, pp. 116–17, 161–5. This does not mean that narrative critics do not believe that there were sources underlying the narrative; the point is rather that we should focus on what we have before us, namely, the text, rather than hypothesise on sources. 30 There is very little variation in the wording of the oath as it appears in the different parts of the pericope. The main differences refer to the vocabulary used in connection to the complot: συστροφή (v. 12), συνωμοσία (v. 13), ἐνέδρα (v. 16), and its cognate ἐνεδρεύω in v. 21. With the exception of v. 21, all variations occur at the level of the narrator. 27 28

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ἀνεθεματίσαμεν ἑαυτοὺς μηδενòς γεύσασθαι ἕως οὗ ἀποκτείνωμεν τòν Παῦλον (v. 14). Lastly, Paul’s nephew revealed the plan of the Jews to the tribune: οἵτινες ἀνεθεμάτισαν ἑαυτοὺς μήτε φαγεῖν μήτε πιεῖν ἕως οὗ ἀνέλωσιν αὐτόν (v. 21). By recording this radical plan three times, the narrator is ensuring that it echoes in the ears of the audience. There is thus very little doubt that some very determined characters would stop at almost nothing in order to achieve their goal of doing away with Paul, whom Luke has depicted as the primary carrier of the gospel to the gentiles. As I shall note below, this drastic resolution on the part of the Jews frames the narrative as a contest between the plotting Jews and the God who is just as determined to provide a way for his servant Paul to reach Rome with the gospel. The repetition of the oath also functions to slow the pace of the narrative. For the purpose of conveying information to the reader, no more than one mention of the oath and plot would have been necessary. Thus, for example, when the son of Paul’s sister approached Lysias, the narrator, in the third person, could have simply stated that the young man ‘informed the tribune of the Jews’ plan’ without embarking on another account of the oath. The narrator, however, chooses to allow the implied reader to hear the oath and plot once again. The result is the introduction of anxiety as the implied reader is forced to linger on the peril facing Paul. Beverly Gaventa comments on this plot device: ‘What could have been reported in a sentence and passed quickly from the reader’s awareness lingers because of the time required to read this account, and thereby Luke heightens the sense of danger encompassing Paul.’31 This plot technique in turn serves a theological function, inviting the reader to ponder the obstacle that was being placed to blockade the spread of the word; the magnitude of the obstacle would then redound to God’s power as he removed the obstruction. 7.2.3.2 The night vision of Jesus This is the second vision of the risen Jesus of which Paul is a beneficiary since the beginning of his missionary career. In the episode at Corinth, I indicated that the epiphany of Jesus occurred at a pivotal point in the narrative, that is, when Paul was about to face intense pressure from his enemies. The same situation is visible here. The

31

Gaventa, Acts, p. 318.

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vision32 occurred after a particularly troublesome meeting between Paul and the Sanhedrin in which the furore of one part of this council was so great that the tribune feared that Paul would be killed. As no final agreement had been reached between the Jerusalem leadership and Paul, it could be anticipated that further clashes between the two would be imminent. This is what we encounter in 23.12 where the first mention of the Jewish plot to murder Paul is revealed. The vision of Jesus is thus placed at a critical stage of the plot movement. The function of the vision vis-à-vis Paul is twofold. First, its ostensible goal was to encourage him. The Lord (i.e., Jesus) began by heartening his servant: ‘Take courage’ (θάρσει).33 Secondly, it implies that Paul’s mission in Jerusalem had met with divine approval.34 The vision also serves as a grid through which the reader is to view the following pericope (23.12–35), and indeed the remainder of Acts: ὡς γὰρ διεμαρτύρω τὰ περὶ ἐμοῦ εἰς Ἰερουσαλὴμ οὕτω σε δεῖ καὶ εἰς Ῥώμην μαρτυρῆσαι. Jervell asserts, ‘Alles geschieht nach dem Willen Gottes, der über Paulus verfügt. So weiss er, was die Zukunft bringt. Und die Leser wissen jetzt, was im Schlussteil der Apg geschildert wird.’35 Consequently, the unrelenting Jews who would plot against Paul’s life in the following section would be in the position, unbeknown to them, of God-fighters, θεόμαχοι, a position which Gamaliel had previously discouraged the Sanhedrin to take (cf. 5.39). The question that now arises is precisely how the risen Jesus would intervene so that his promise – to bear witness to him also in Rome – would come to pass, even though more than forty Jews had taken a drastic oath to exterminate the one through whom the witnessing was to be done. This takes us to the written speech of Claudius Lysias. 7.2.4

The written speech of Claudius Lysias

We read in 23.25 that the tribune composed an ἐπιστολήν addressed to the governor Felix. The quotation of letters in narrative literature 32 The text is not specific on whether this was a vision (ὅραμα, ὁπτασία) or a dream (ὄναρ). The phrasing simply indicates that the Lord ‘stood by him’ (ἐπιστὰς αὐτῷ ὁ κύριος). However, since 18.9 is explicit about the medium of the appearance (δι’ ὁράματος), the implied reader may infer a similar scenario. See, in addition, Weaver, Plots of Epiphany, p. 168, who indicates that one of the common features in myths of visions and dreams in ancient literature was the mention of the physical position of the supernatural being towards the seer (e.g. ἐπέστε). 33 The Majority text adds a personal touch by adding the vocative Παῦλε. 34 Thus Barrett, Acts, Vol. 2, p. 1068. Cf. Squires, The Plan of God, p. 119. 35 Jervell, Apostelgeschichte, p. 557. See also Weaver, Plots of Epiphany, p. 287.

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can be observed from numerous works from different epochs and from several different genres. These examples span the following wide range of writings: the Hebrew Scriptures,36 the classical historians,37 Hellenistic and Roman historians,38 Hellenistic-Jewish writers,39 and ancient novelists.40 It would appear that letters quoted in narratives were viewed under the same category as speeches. The judgement of G.M. Paul on the practice of Sallust is one that is shared by most scholars with respect to other ancient historians: ‘The letters included in the works are hardly to be distinguished in effect from speeches.’41 This opinion could be further corroborated by the following statement of Demetrius (ca first century BCE): The length of a letter, no less than its style, must be kept within due bounds. Those that are too long, and further are stilted in expression, are not in sober truth letters but treatises (συγγράμματα) with the heading ‘My dear So-and-So’. This is true of many of Plato’s, and of that of Thucydides.’42 Demetrius’ observations have been repeated by many historians, who have noted both the stilted nature of Thucydides’ diction as well as the length and extreme polish of the letters quoted in his narrative. It would thus appear that Demetrius is accusing Thucydides (and Plato) of introducing long, refined speeches under the veneer of letters. One final example of the correlation between letters in narrative and speeches comes from Dionysius of Halicarnassus. Commenting on those speeches of Thucydides, which (in Dionysius’ opinion) ought to be imitated by other historians, he lists the letter of Nikias found in 36 E.g. 2 Sam. 11.14–15 (the LXX uses the term βιβλίον); Neh. 6.5–7=LXX 2 Esdras 16.5–7, where the term ἐπιστολήν is employed). 37 E.g. Herodotus 3.40; Thucydides 1.128, 129, 137 (γράμματα); 7.14–15. 38 E.g. Josephus, Ant. 8.50–5; Sallust, Cat. 35; Iug. 24. 39 E.g. 1 Macc. 11.30–7; 12.19–23; 2 Macc. 11.16–21; 3 Macc. 3.11–30; Letter of Aristeas 34–40. See also the interchange of letters between Solomon, King Vaphres, and King Souron included in the fragmentary work of Eupolemus (ca 200 BCE). A translation is found in Holladay, Fragments, Vol. 1, pp. 119–23. 40 E.g. Chariton 8.4. See also Plümacher, Lukas als hellenistischer Schriftsteller, p. 10. For other types of genres where letters are quoted, see J. Sykutris, ‘Epistolographie’, in PW Supp, Vol. 5, pp. 208–10. 41 G.M. Paul, ‘Sallust’, in Latin Historians, ed. T. A. Dorey (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1966), p. 104. On Thucydides, Steven Lattimore, Thucydides: The Peloponnesian War (Indianapolis, IN: Hackett Publishing Company, 1998), p. 364, comments on the letter of Nikias, ‘There must have been such a letter, but its language is Thucydidean … and so we have the same question of accuracy as with the speeches.’ See further below for Dionysius of Halicarnassus’ observations on this letter. 42 Demetrius, Eloc. 228. The translation is that of W. Rhys Roberts in LCL.

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Book 7 alongside the great funeral oration of Pericles, Nikias’ own other speeches, and the defence speech of the Plataeans. Dionysius states: I find the same qualities [clarity, good diction, brevity] in the speeches made by the general Nicias at Athens on the subject of the Sicilian expedition, and in the letter sent by him to the Athenians … and the speech in which he rallied his men before the final sea battle; and the consolatory speech he made as he was about to withdraw his army by land after losing all the ships; and all the other speeches in this style.43 From the examples provided above, it is plausible to suggest that letters in narrative were viewed under the same category as speeches. If letters are therefore to be allocated alongside speeches, the question of historical factualness comes to the fore. In this respect, Edwin Judge has argued that the letter of Claudius Lysias in Acts 23 should not be viewed as a rhetorical approximation to what the tribune actually wrote, but rather, ‘We must ask both with regard to the letter of Lysias and to that which transmitted the decision of the Jerusalem council … whether the author of Acts did not mean his readers to take them as the direct citation of transcripts available to him.’44 Judge bases this argument on a papyrus roll originating from Oxyrhynchus between 253 and 260 CE. Enclosed in the roll is a petition sent through a certain Heraklammon (A), a letter to a friend at court that mentions the petition (B), and a more elaborate draft of the initial petition on the back of the papyrus (C). The petitioner indicates in the letter (B) that he is enclosing a τύπος of the petition (C?); however, he asks his friend, before delivering the τύπος, to inquire if the previous petition (A?) had already reached the authorities. In that case, he should disregard the τύπος enclosed in letter B to avoid the same petition being lodged twice. Judge thus states: ‘Since he applies the term [τύπος] both to the copy of his petition sent through Heraklammon and to the one now being sent to the unidentified friend at court, and since he has adopted this double approach as a fail-safe technique, it seems to me inescapable that two identical texts were sent.’45 Building on this, Judge concludes that the readers of Dionysius of Halicarnassus, De Thuc. 42 (emphasis added). Edwin A. Judge, ‘A State Schoolteacher Makes a Salary Bid’, in New Documents Illustrating Early Christianity: A Review of the Greek Inscriptions and Papyri Published in 1976, ed. E.H.R. Horsley (Macquarie: Macquarie University), Vol. 1, p. 78. 45 Ibid., p. 77 (emphasis added). 43 44

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Acts may not have viewed the letter of Lysias in the same category of a speech but rather as a direct transcript. The result would be a stronger sense of factuality. Judge’s statements, however, seem somewhat overstated. It is not inescapable that two identical texts were sent; it is merely possible. The petitioner may very well have sent two different petitions as long as they had a similar gist. Further, the term τύπος does not always refer to an exact copy of an original but may denote an outline or pattern.46 Lastly, the statements of ancient authors surveyed above give strong indication that ancient readers would have linked speeches with letters, where the former were seen not as verbatim reports of what speakers actually said but as containing the general flow of the discourse. We can conclude, therefore, that it is a strong probability that the readers of Luke–Acts viewed Lysias’ letter as a speech-like composition that contained the main outline of what the tribune actually wrote.47 A closer examination of the letter is now apposite. The beginning of the letter, with the sender’s name placed first and the recipient’s placed second in the dative (Κλαύδιος Λυσίας τῷ κρατίστῳ ἡγεμόνι Φήλικι), was conventional of ancient letters.48 The greeting, χαίρειν, was also commonplace. Lysias continued by providing a narratio of the events that led to the transferring of Paul. He reported the life-threatening situation in which Paul was found, his gallant deed in rescuing him because he knew him to be a Roman citizen,49 his initiative at cognitio by taking him before the Sanhedrin, 46

See LSJ, s.v. The language of the letter, at any rate, is Lukan: συλλαμβάνω (Lk. 1.24, 31, 36; 2.21; 5.7, 9; 22.54; Acts 1.16; 12.3; 26.21); ἀναιρέω (Lk. 22.2; 23.32; Acts 2.23; 5.33, 36; 7.21, 28; 9.23, 24, 29; 10.39; 12.2; 13.28; 16.27; 22.20; 23.15, 21; 25.3; 26.10); ἐφίστημι (Lk. 2.9, 38; 4.39; 10.40; 20.1; 21.34; 24.4; Acts 4.1; 6.12; 10.17; 11.11; 12.7; 17.5; 22.13, 20; 23.11; 28.2); ἐξαιρέω (Acts 7.10, 34; 12.11; 26.17); ἐγκαλέω (Acts 19.38, 40; 26.2, 7). The syntax of the letter is more stilted than usual for Luke (see Barrett’s comments in Acts, Vol. 2, p. 1083). This may point to Luke’s attempt to be faithful to the actual letter (assuming that there was one) or may be an attempt at verisimilitude. Plümacher’s dismissal, Lukas als hellenistischer Schriftsteller, p. 10, of the possibility that the letter contains the summary of what was written is far too sweeping: ‘immer sind diese Dokumente [of Hellenistic historians] auch, ebenso wie in der Ag, vom Verfasser des Ganzen selbst gestaltet’. See also Pervo, Profit with Delight, p. 77: ‘The letter of Claudius to Felix is likewise an invention, based upon neither data nor probability but wish.’ Cf. also Cadbury, The Making of Luke–Acts, pp. 190–1. 48 Stanley Stowers, Letter Writing in Greco-Roman Antiquity (Philadelphia, PA: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1986), pp. 20–1. 49 For the discrepancy between this assertion and Luke’s narrative, see under §7.2.2.3. P48 reads ἐρυσάμεν for ἐξειλάμην and adds the typical expression of the Roman citizen, κράζοντα καὶ λέγοντα εἶναι Ῥωμαίον (e.g. Cicero, Verr. 2.57.147). 47

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and his discovery of the plot that led to his final decision to transfer Paul. He concluded the letter by informing Felix that he had ordered Paul’s accusers to appear before him so that they could utter their complaint there.50 7.2.5

The function of Claudius Lysias’ speech

What is the function of this letter in 23.12–35? Besides the ostensible legal role of officially executing the transfer to the court at Caesarea, the letter serves two further purposes, both at the level of subtext. First, through this written speech of Lysias the narrator is able to voice one of the principal motifs in the book of Acts, that is, that Paul’s actions vis-à-vis the Jewish people were intra-religious disputes which did not at all impinge on Roman law and order. Lysias stated concerning Paul in v. 29: ‘I found that he was accused concerning questions (περὶ ζητημάτων) of their law, but was charged with nothing deserving death or imprisonment.’ Remarkably, this is the same verdict of Gallio when Paul was accused in Corinth (18.15), of Festus while expounding the case to Agrippa (25.19, 25), and of Agrippa and his consilium after hearing Paul’s defence (26.31–2). Indeed, both Gallio and Festus use the term ζήτημα to label the dispute. If it is Paul the prisoner whom the audience is meant to remember,51 then it is Paul the unjustly incarcerated prisoner who is to be remembered.52 The second function of the written speech is to show the reader how the promise of the risen Jesus, privately disclosed to Paul in 23.11, was fulfilled. I hark back to my statement that 23.12–35 was a narrative framed by tension. On the one hand, the reader was made aware of the divine will (the divine must, δεῖ) as disclosed by Jesus in 23.11. On the other hand, 23.12 opened by immediately informing the reader that a drastic, murderous plan had been formulated by a large number of furious Jerusalem Jews who were bent on killing Paul. The narrative thus seeks to answer the question of how Paul, the carrier of the gospel par excellence, would escape this ambush so as to reach Rome to bear witness according to the divine design. It was at this tense point in the narrative that the outsider Claudius Lysias performed one of his crucial ‫אּ‬, E, and Ψ add the stereotypical closing ἔρρωσο (‘farewell’) of letters. Thus Robert Maddox, The Purpose of Luke–Acts (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1982), p. 63. 52 See Paul Schubert, ‘The Final Cycle of Speeches in the Book of Acts’, JBL 87 (1968): 10: ‘Paul and with him the whole sect of the Nazarenes … is innocent of the Jewish charges and the doubts entertained by Roman government officials.’ 50 51

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interventions. Although in a real sense his action of preparing an escort to Caesarea rescued Paul, it was nevertheless his written speech that made the transaction effective. Hence, we can speak of his written speech as a performative speech that effectively achieved the deliverance of Paul.53 This is highly ironic for several reasons. First, Claudius Lysias was ‘victimised’ in the speech-act. His intention, as we saw under the characters section, was mixed.54 His letter revealed a self-serving character who desired to appear in as good a light as possible before the governor Felix. Even if a semblance of sympathy towards Paul could be discovered in the persona of Lysias, he certainly did not intend to transfer him to Caesarea in order to carry out God’s plan. He did not know of the divine destiny appointed for Paul. Yet, he acted responsibly, swiftly, and with great determination to send Paul to Caesarea. What he did not know was that his speech-act was actually advancing the gospel to its ultimate destination of Rome. Secondly, and flowing from the first point, the speech-act of Claudius Lysias has significance at two levels. For the characters in the story, for example Lysias and the other soldiers in the barracks (but with the exception of Paul), the initiative to remove Paul from Jerusalem was the necessity to ensure that a Roman citizen would go before one who could properly judge his case.55 For the audience, on the other hand, who by virtue of being outside the story are privileged recipients of the narrator’s omniscient information, the removal of Paul to Caesarea is viewed as a divine initiative in order to carry Paul closer to his appointed destination of Rome, as stated by Jesus in 23.11. The third element, that of dissonance between the levels of text and subtext, is implied in this last observation, as the characters were acting to accomplish one goal while the audience realises that a higher goal is actually being consummated. We thus have all three elements of

53

In this regard Lysias’ written speech fits well with J.L. Austin’s model of a ‘performative’. See Austin’s examples of performatives, which are often statements uttered in an official civic and/or political context in order to ratify an event (J.L. Austin, How to Do Things with Words: The William James Lectures Delivered at Harvard University in 1955, 2nd edn [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1976], p. 5). 54 Pace Haenchen, Acts, p. 650, who is too optimistic of the ‘benevolence’ of Rome toward Paul. 55 Of course, Claudius Lysias, as has been pointed out, had more than correct procedure in mind.

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dramatic irony: (1) the victim, (2) the two levels of significance, and (3) tension between the two levels.56 7.2.6

Conclusion

I close this section on the written speech of Lysias by comparing it to previous similar episodes involving outsiders in previous sections of Acts. These episodes display a similar architectural structure to 23.12–35. First, I hark back to 5.17–42. We encountered three broad components in the narrative: (1) persecution of the apostles by the temple authorities, (2) an epiphanic intervention from the ἄγγελος κυρίου encouraging the apostles to continue preaching, and (3) an outsider, Gamaliel, who, while motivated by fear of becoming a θεόμαχος, nevertheless unwittingly affirmed the legitimacy of the Jesus movement and rescued the apostles from death with the result that they continued preaching (action transformatrice). Secondly, I point to Paul’s mission in Corinth where the outsider Gallio was involved. That narrative had the following three elements: (1) persecution of Paul by the unbelieving Jews, (2) a promise of Jesus, through a vision, that Paul would not be harmed and that many would repent at Corinth (thus encouraging him to continue his ministry), and (3) the involvement of a non-Christian to bring resolution to the harassment of Paul (action transformatrice). Like Claudius Lysias in this episode, Gallio was also a ‘victim’ of Jesus’ sovereignty. He dismissed the charges of the Jews as irrelevant to Roman policy and threw the accusing Jews out of court. While his motive for this action was a mixture of competent judgement and perhaps a desire to sweep the problem under the carpet, he did not realise that precisely by this action (accomplished through a speech) he would allow Paul to complete his ministry in Corinth, thus bringing to pass the promise of the risen Jesus. Furthermore, Gallio expressed in his brief speech that Paul had not contravened Roman law. The third incident that is strikingly similar to 23.12–35 is the previously examined event at Ephesus. The same elements were present:

56 Although other authors have noted the dynamics of Acts 23.12–35 (see, e.g., Gaventa, Acts, pp. 322–3; Tannehill, Narrative Unity, Vol. 2, p. 292), none, to my knowledge, has called attention to the dramatic irony embedded in the speech-act of the outsider Claudius Lysias.

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(1) persecution of Paul (this time by gentile craftsmen), (2) divine communication (ἐν τῷ πνεύματι) informing Paul that he must ‘see’ Jerusalem and Rome, and (3) an outsider whose ostensible aim was to avoid a charge of city sedition but who nonetheless was the means by which Paul was able to depart from Ephesus in order to complete his divine itinerary (again action transformatrice). It is worth mentioning that, as in 23.11, Paul was told that he ‘must’ (δεῖ) go to Rome. In addition, the Ephesian Town Clerk cleared Paul’s companions (and by implication Paul himself) by stating that they had not been guilty of a Roman crime. The same dynamics are found in the current pericope. There is the element of Jewish persecution against Paul, an appearance of the risen Jesus promising that he was to go to Rome, and the intervention of an outsider, a Roman official who, while acting from mixed motives, nevertheless, unwittingly, ended up being the effective means through which the pledge of the risen Jesus was fulfilled (action transformatrice). Further, Claudius Lysias expressed in the letter his belief that Paul’s troubles arose from intra-Jewish strife rather than Roman law-breaking. These similarities provide plausible evidence that the speech-acts of outsiders in Acts conform to a specific pattern: outsiders, unbeknown to them, are one of the means through which Luke expresses his own theological/historiographic point of view: the Jesus movement is truly from God, outsiders themselves are aiding in the forwarding of the gospel, the missionaries are not guilty of wrongdoing against Rome. These observations further strengthen the overarching argument of this project: Luke, by means of dramatic irony, uses the speeches of outsiders to support his own theological beliefs. 7.3

The narrative and speech of Tertullus (24.1–27)

7.3.1

Setting

The previous pericope concluded by informing the reader of Paul’s removal to Caesarea. Acts 23.35 indicated that upon Paul’s arrival at Caesarea Felix commanded that he be guarded ἐν τῷ πραιτωρίῳ τοῦ Ἡρῴδου. A question that has troubled students of Acts – and one which is potentially significant for our understanding of Paul’s characterisation and plot – is the identification of Herod’s praetorium.

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On the one hand, Josephus is clear that Herod had built palaces in Caesarea.57 It is also clear that, as the Roman gubernatorial seat of Palestine, there existed in Caesarea halls where cases could be heard58 as well as jails.59 On the other hand, there is no explicit mention in ancient literary sources of Herod’s praetorium. While it is not doubted that there existed a praetorium in Caesarea, the question is whether this structure was connected to Herod’s palaces or whether it was a building separate from the palace complexes. Related to this is the question of prison rooms in Caesarea. If the praetorium was part of the palaces, it could then be deduced that Paul was being kept at this location rather than in a general carcer; this could be of potential significance for our construal of Paul’s status as a prisoner. In recent years, archaeologists at Caesarea Maritima have become more and more convinced that Herod had built two magnificent palaces on the promontory that juts out into the Mediterranean.60 In the Upper Palace a large meeting hall has been identified which was possibly used as a hearing hall. Gleason states: ‘We identify the room as an audience-hall, cautiously suggesting that it was in such a room that the governors of Caesarea received Paul, among many others, for hearings.’61 In addition, a Latin inscription in a mosaic has been discovered in the upper courtyard of the Upper Palace towards the entrance of the complex. The inscription reads: Spes bona adiu(t)orib(us) offici custodiar (um) (‘Good hope to the assistants of the office of the guards’).62 Although the inscription is said to date from the second half of the second century CE at the earliest, it nevertheless testifies to a guardroom protecting the entrance to the Upper Palace. Burrell cautiously suggests: Josephus, War 1.617; 2.17; and Ant. 15.331. The context of Ant. 2.266, with the mention of Jews and Greeks bringing arguments as to the rightful heirs of Caesarea, leads one to believe that a court was operative there. It is notable that Felix himself is mentioned by Josephus as attempting to quell the quarrel between the Jews and the Greeks in Caesarea (Ant. 2.270). 59 Josephus, for example, mentions in Ant. 7.20 that Titus took prisoners to Caesarea and kept them there. Similarly, in Ant. 7.36, mention is made of Simon being brought in chains before Vespasian in Caesarea where he was kept as a prisoner. Josephus himself discloses that he married a woman by order of Vespasian while he was detained in Caesarea (Life 414). See Rapske, Paul in Roman Custody, p. 156, nn. 16 and 17 for further references to imprisonment in Caesarea. 60 These have been called the Lower and the Upper Palace. See Kathryn Gleason et al., ‘The Promontory Palace at Caesarea Maritima: Preliminary Evidence for Herod’s Praetorium’, JRA 11 (1998): 23–52. 61 Ibid., p. 33. It should be noted that a hypocaust has also been located in the rear of the hall where a bema could be placed for audience hearings (pp. 46–7). 62 Barbara Burrell in Gleason, ‘The Promontory Palace’, p. 48. 57 58

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[A]ny temptation to relate the mosaic inscription to St. Paul’s detention within the praetorium should be resisted. Nonetheless, an office for a Latin-speaking guard meant that Roman governmental functions were carried out in the building, and helps to confirm the identification of the Promontory Palace as ‘Herod’s Praetorium’.63 In sum, this archaeological team from Cornell University believes that Herod’s praetorium was part of one of the palaces.64 However, no remains of jails have been discovered in Herod’s palaces. If these observations are correct, one can join Rapske in the following conclusion: ‘If the Promontory Palace is indeed the structure referred to at Acts 23:35, Paul would have been confined in one of its many rooms.’65 Could we then conclude, because Paul was not sent to a general jail (assuming that there were such facilities) but was kept in the praetorium itself, that he was held by Felix to be a prisoner of important social status or of little danger?66 Is it possible that the statement in Lysias’ letter, viz. that the charges against Paul did not call for death or imprisonment (23.29), could have persuaded the governor to place Paul under a sort of custodia libera? These circumstances would imply that Paul was not dangerous to Roman order, a motif which is exploited in Acts 23–8. Certain statements in the narrative, however, throw this attractive possibility into question. First, Acts 24.23 reads that it was after Felix heard the Jews’ charges and Paul’s effective rebuttal that the latter’s custody was eased: διαταξάμενος τῷ ἑκατοντάρχῃ τηρεῖσθαι αὐτòν ἔχειν τε ἄνεσιν καὶ μηδένα κωλύειν τῶν ἰδίων αὐτοῦ ὑπηρετεῖν αὐτῷ.67 Secondly, 24.27 states that when Felix was being replaced by Festus, he κατέλιπε τòν Παῦλον δεδεμένον. The verb used to describe Paul’s state, δέω, although possibly being a general reference Ibid., p. 48. See also B. Burrell, K. Gleason, and E. Netzer, ‘Uncovering Herod’s Seaside Palace’, BAR 19 (1993): 50–7. Contrast Omerzu, Der Prozeß des Paulus, pp. 416–18, who is not very optimistic about relating Herod’s palace to the praetorium. 65 Rapske, Paul in Roman Custody, p. 157. 66 See, e.g., Digest 48.3.1: ‘The proconsul determines the custody of the accused persons, whether someone is to be lodged in prison [carcerem], handed over to the military, entrusted to sureties, or even on his own recognisances. He normally does this by reference to the nature of the charge brought, the honourable status, or the great wealth, or the harmlessness, or the rank of the accused.’ 67 As Skinner, Locating Paul, p. 134, n. 58, rightly points out, however, Rapske (Paul in Roman Custody, p. 157) may be reading too much into this text by suggesting that Paul’s condition prior to the hearing was overly severe. 63 64

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for imprisonment, nevertheless usually, in Lukan vocabulary, points to binding.68 Lastly, Paul’s memorable statement to Agrippa in 26.29, εὐξαίμην ἂν τῷ θεῷ καὶ ἐν ὀλίγῳ καὶ ἐν μεγάλῳ οὐ μόνον σὲ ἀλλὰ καὶ πάντας τοὺς ἀκούοντάς μου σήμερον γενέσθαι τοιούτους ὁποῖος καὶ ἐγώ εἰμι, παρεκτòς τῶν δεσμῶν τούτων, makes it very probable that Paul was wearing chains. Skinner suggests that this is an indication of general imprisonment (as opposed to being shackled) by explaining it as an example of synecdoche (cf. 26.31).69 Nevertheless, the use of the demonstrative τούτων to modify ‘chains’ suggests that Paul was shackled as he gave his apology (Bruce thus correctly states, ‘indicating his shackled wrist with a gesture’).70 We can thus conclude that, while Paul probably remained at the praetorium rather than being sent to a carcer, nevertheless he remained bound. This last observation should temper our conclusions as to the level of privilege enjoyed by Paul. To conclude, the paradox must be observed that his imprisoned state allowed him to present the claims of Christianity to a number of distinguished figures with whom he otherwise may not have been able to hold an audience (e.g. Felix and Drusilla, Festus, Agrippa and Bernice; cf. Phil. 1.12–14). This paradox, as Skinner has noted, may be the main effect of the Caesarean setting on the plot of Acts: Once again, a setting in which Paul is held prisoner and made to give account of his actions becomes a place where he contends for the gospel as the fulfilment of Jewish expectations. As the custody settings begin to accumulate and as the reader observes Paul seizing opportunities to witness to the gospel within a number of them, an archetypal representation emerges: custody settings are places in which Paul’s mission will continue, even though he himself is no longer free to travel in public.71 7.3.2

Characters

7.3.2.1 Tertullus Among those who arrived at Caesarea for the litigation against Paul, Luke mentions a certain Tertullus who was also an advocate 68 69 71

See Lk. 19.30; Acts 12.6; 21.11, 33; 22.29. Pace Skinner, Locating Paul, p. 139. Skinner, Locating Paul, p. 140. 70 Bruce, Book of the Acts, p. 471. Skinner, Locating Paul, p. 137.

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(ῥήτορος Τερτύλλου τινός). This is the only piece of direct definition that Luke gives about this character. The term ῥήτωρ originally referred to a rhetorician. By the time Luke–Acts was penned, however, it came to refer to a legal advocate.72 Unlike modern litigation in which the use of an attorney is standard practice, ancient legal procedure of the Roman Empire did not require the use of an advocate. Nevertheless, it was advisable to secure the services of a lawyer when one of the parties wanted to secure gratia (favour) with the judge. This was particularly true when one party perceived that the opposite one might have exerted power and influence over the judge. J. M. Kelly thus states: Some of the sources from the early Empire which deal with the advocate’s profession show that lawyers were well aware of the part played in litigation by gratia and potentia. Tacitus puts words in the mouths of advocates defending their own fees to the effect that defendants need advocates to help them, lest otherwise they might be left at the mercy of the powerful.73 It is nevertheless odd that the group of Jews accusing Paul, belonging to the elite of Jewish society, were the ones enlisting an attorney. Rapske suggests that Paul’s Roman citizenship put him at an advantage over the Jewish plaintiffs and therefore they needed an advocate in order to tilt the judge’s favour to their side.74 Whatever the reason for their hiring of an advocate, the very fact that they hired such a person possibly testifies to their utter determination in securing Paul’s condemnation. Indirect definition of the character of Tertullus is provided through his speech in 24.2–8. Although I shall expand my comments on the speech in a separate section, at this point it is necessary to lay out what Tertullus’75 accusation is. After his captatio benevolentiae in vv. 2b–3, he accused Paul in v. 5 of creating sedition among the Jewish populace in the entire inhabited world. The accusation was a serious one LSJ s.v. ῥήτωρ. This may be the case since both rhetoricians and lawyers aimed at completing the tertiary level of education. See also Omerzu, Der Prozeß des Paulus, p. 423, who building on the papyri states: ‘Die Bezeichnung ῥήτωρ steht hier nicht im allgemeinen Sinne für Redner, sondern meint einen Anwalt als Sprecher vor Gericht.’ 73 J.M. Kelly, Roman Litigation (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1966), p. 53. 74 Rapske, Paul in Roman Custody, p. 159. 75 Since Tertullus represents the Jews mentioned in vv. 1 and 9, their characterisation is affected by his accusation. 72

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as it painted Paul as a politically dangerous person, namely, a revolutionary.76 This statement, however, is to be viewed in light of Paul’s rebuttal in 24.10–21. He defended himself by highlighting the religious aspect of his activities. He thus wished Felix to view him as politically harmless.77 Since Paul is presented by Luke as an ‘ideal character’, the implied reader is prompted to accept Paul’s testimony and reject Tertullus’ accusation as false. As such, Tertullus and the Jews whom he represented are depicted by Luke as a dishonest group whose primary purpose was to secure the condemnation of God’s instrument of proclamation in Rome, Paul.78 7.3.2.2 Paul Luke portrays the character of Paul in this section through indirect presentation (24.10–21, 23). The first part is done through his apologia. In this defence before Felix, Paul offered a captatio (v. 10) which was more restrained than that of Tertullus. His comment to the effect that Felix had been a judge of the Jewish nation for many years and hence was competent to hear his apology connected the exordium to the rest of the speech, since Paul’s defence would be referring to Jewish theological topics.79 In his narratio (v. 11) he stated that he had arrived at Jerusalem in order to worship. He then offered the propositio in v. 12: καὶ οὔτε ἐν τῷ ἱερῷ εὗρόν με πρός τινα διαλεγόμενον ἢ ἐπίστασιν ποιοῦντα ὄχλου οὔτε ἐν ταῖς συναγωγαῖς οὔτε κατὰ τὴν πόλιν.80 In essence, he denied the charge of sedition being brought against him. Paul’s probatio took up the remainder of the speech (vv. 13–21).81 The

76 See Bruce Winter, ‘The Importance of Captatio Benevolentiae in the Speeches of Tertullus and Paul in Acts 24:1–21’, JTS 42 (1991): 518–19. 77 Cf. Jerome Neyrey, ‘The Forensic Defense Speech and Paul’s Trial Speeches in Acts 22–26: Form and Function’, in Luke Acts: New Perspectives from the Society of Biblical Literature Seminar, ed. C. H. Talbert (New York: Scholars Press, 1984), pp. 214–15. 78 The question must be asked whether Luke is truly justified in presenting Paul (through his speech) as politically innocent. Barrett, Acts, Vol. 2, p. 1092 observes: ‘[Paul] had not desired disturbance, but it could be reasonably maintained that he had provoked it by insisting on a version of Judaism which the majority of Jews saw not as the fulfilment but as the destruction of their faith’. 79 See Winter, ‘The Importance’, p. 523. 80 Bruce, Book of the Acts, p. 424, has commented that Paul’s syntax here imitates that of the lawyers. 81 Thus Kennedy, New Testament Interpretation, p. 136, whom I follow in affirming that a peroratio is not visible in this speech.

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Jews could not prove their accusation (v. 13). Indeed, Paul was willing to admit that he was part of a so-called sect, ὁμολογῶ δὲ τοῦτό σοι ὅτι κατὰ τὴν ὁδòν ἣν λέγουσιν αἵρεσιν κτλ;82 however, this was not some political group that was attempting to cause problems. Rather, it followed the Jewish ancestral God and believed in its sacred Scriptures, in which the resurrection of the dead was – according to Paul – central (vv. 14–15). In fact, Paul continued, he had come to his nation to bring alms and offerings, and it was while he was engaged in this latter activity that he was found in the temple (vv. 17–18). The implication is that a political uprising was not what he had come to attempt. The probatio not only consisted of the Jews’ inability to prove their case or the harmlessness of the Way, but also of Paul calling attention to the absence of the Asian Jews to appear for the trial (v. 19), an action that should have resulted in the case being thrown out. A papyrus document from Krokodilopolis dating from the Ptolemaic period (ca 226 BCE) records a session of court in which a certain Jew named Dositheus brought a lawsuit against a fellow Jewess named Herakleia. Since the plaintiff Dositheus was not present for the hearing, the case was dismissed.83 Similarly, Sherwin-White has argued that if the plaintiff failed to be present for a hearing, the case could be dismissed.84 Paul concluded his probatio by directly challenging his accusers to put forth any wrongdoing on his part when he had stood before them in the Sanhedrin (v. 20). In fact, the only thing they could say was that Paul had affirmed the resurrection of the dead when he spoke to the Sanhedrin. Barrett remarks concerning Paul’s assertion before the Sanhedrin: ‘True, this produced an uproar in the Sanhedrin; but was that an ἀδίκημα, even though Paul had expressed himself more pointedly than he reports (Φαρισαῖός εἰμι, υἱòς Φαρισαίων)? If to be a Pharisee was a crime, half the Sanhedrin was guilty.’85 Thus, Paul skilfully framed the central issues of his case as Jewish theological disputes rather than political issues. The Jews, on the other hand, had tried to portray the case as exclusively

82 On ὁμολογέω as meaning confess or admit in court language, see BDAG s.v. ὁμολογέω and the primary literature cited there. 83 CPJ Vol. 1, p. 19. 84 Sherwin-White, Roman Society, p. 52. He does not document any primary literature, however. He is followed by Winter, ‘The Importance’, p. 525; and Rapske, Paul in Roman Custody, p. 163. 85 Barrett, Acts, Vol. 2, pp. 1110–11.

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political, knowing that in this way they could have more easily secured a conviction.86 By means of the speech I suggest that Paul is being depicted in the following three ways: (1) he was innocent of any infraction of Roman law, (2) he was a faithful Jew, and (3) if necessary, he could offer a very competent defence.87 Winter states concerning this last point: The author of Acts intends his readers to see Paul handling his defence with great dexterity, refuting serious charges. His prescribing of the limits of evidence based on Roman law, his proscribing the charges of absent accusers, his use of forensic terminology, his construction of ‘lawyer-like’ phrases, and, not least of all, his presentation of a well-argued defence, even if preserved in summary form, is meant to point to the fact that Paul conducted his own defence in an able manner against a professional forensic orator.88 Further indirect presentation of Paul’s character is done in v. 23. After Felix had postponed the case due to his excellent knowledge of the Way (v. 22),89 he ordered one of the centurions to allow Paul some liberty (τηρεῖσθαι αὐτòν ἔχειν τε ἄνεσιν). Whatever the exact meaning of this phrase, the fact that it comes after the trial suggests to the reader that both the charge of the Jews as well as the able defence of Paul gave Felix the impression that Paul was no dangerous felon and thus deserved some form of lightened custody as well as the privilege 86 Sherwin-White, Roman Society, p. 50: ‘The Jews were trying to induce the governor to construe the preaching of Paul as tantamount to causing civil disturbances throughout the Jewish population of the Empire. They knew that the governors were unwilling to convict on purely religious charges and therefore tried to give a political twist to the religious charges.’ 87 See further Pesch, Apostelgeschichte, Vol. 2, p. 260, for correlations between the thoughts expressed in Paul’s speech and those in his letters. 88 Winter, ‘The Importance’, p. 526. 89 The perfect participle εἰδώς is probably causal: Felix postponed the case because he knew with more exactitude the things of the Way. The question is what this better knowledge of the Way has to do with the postponement. Omerzu, Der Prozeß des Paulus, p. 452, declares: ‘Vertmutlich soll mit diesem Hinweis auf der Erzählebene angezeigt werden, daß Felix darum weiß, daß die Vorwürfe gegen Paulus haltlos sind, und zwar auch hinsichtlich der für den Statthalter allein relevanten politischen Anklagen.’ Similarly Barrett, Acts, Vol. 2, p. 1112, ‘[Felix] had a more accurate knowledge than they [the Jews] thought he had. They could not pull wool over his eyes.’ Consequently, the Jews would not easily be able to secure a guilty verdict, especially since Paul was a Roman citizen and a rash condemnation on the part of Felix could put him in a difficult situation. Hence, as v. 22b states, the testimony of Lysias was necessary. Judging from 24.24–6, it is also probable that he delayed the case because he wanted a bribe from Paul. See further under §7.3.2.3.

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of having his friends minister to his needs. By recording these positive results, Luke shows that Paul was not guilty of infracting Roman law. 7.3.2.3 Felix Luke seems to take almost as much interest in Felix as he does in Paul in this section, since 24.22–7 in particular has him as the subject.90 The depiction of Felix is done strictly through direct presentation.91 The description is mostly negative. First, we already noted above that his decision to lighten Paul’s custody (vv. 22–3) highlighted the latter’s innocence more than Felix’s own sense of justice. Secondly, while it is true that Felix and his wife Drusilla92 showed some interest concerning faith in Jesus (v. 24), the omniscient narrator explained that when Paul discoursed περὶ δικαιοσύνης καὶ ἐγκρατείας καὶ τοῦ κρίματος τοῦ μέλλοντος, Felix became afraid (ἔμφοβος γενόμενος)93 and put off the remainder of the discourse for another occasion. Felix is thus portrayed as rejecting the message of faith in Jesus. Thirdly, the narrator discloses that more than just religious interests were motivating Felix to converse with Paul: he was hoping for a bribe.94 Lastly, v. 27 reports that upon the succession of the new magistrate Festus, Felix left Paul imprisoned θέλων τε χάριτα καταθέσθαι τοῖς 90 Thus Gaventa, Acts, p. 329. Her observation could be strengthened by noting that Felix’s name always occurs with the nominative article in this text: ὁ Φῆλιξ (vv. 22, 24, 25, 27 [twice]). 91 As Tannehill, The Narrative Unity, Vol. 2, p. 301, rightly points out, however, Luke still leaves some ‘gaps’ in his characterisation of Felix. He cites as an example Luke’s failure to give an exact reason as to how Felix’s knowledge of the Way affected his decision to postpone the hearing: ‘The narrator never supplies a clear explanation of Felix’s inaction … but does help us form hypotheses.’ 92 On Drusilla and how she left her husband Azizus to marry Felix after being persuaded by a magician Jew, see Josephus, Ant. 20.141–4. 93 The focus is on Felix and not Drusilla, as the masculine singular participle γενόμενος shows. 94 It is important to note that the narrator does not give the impression that Felix was exclusively interested in a bribe when he met with Paul. He uses ἅμα καί, ‘at the same time’, at the beginning of v. 26 rather than the causal γάρ or ὅτι. Jervell, Apostelgeschichte, p. 576, seems to have overlooked this when he commented: ‘Woran Felix tatsächlich Interesse hatte und wie der Aufschub begründet wird, kommt hier zum Ausdruck. Felix hatte eine Reihe von Gesprächen … mit Paulus, aber nur weil er hoffte, von ihm Geld … zu bekommen …’ (emphasis added). Rather, Luke, in the tradition of the Hebrew Bible, paints a realistic portrait of a character with mixed motives. Thus, Barrett is entirely justified in criticising Haenchen’s comment (Apostelgeschichte, p. 634) that ‘Der Mann, der Paulus besucht, um von Jesus zu hören, und der Mann, der Paulus besucht, um Geld zu sehen, ist nicht ein und derselbe.’ Barrett, Acts, Vol. 2, p. 1116, responds, ‘They might be; not every man is a logically and morally consistent whole.’ See also Tannehill, Narrative Unity, Vol. 2, p. 303.

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Ἰουδαίοις. The causal participle thus gives the impression that Felix was more interested in appeasing the powerful Jewish plaintiffs than in doing justice for the sake of the imprisoned Paul. The portrait of Felix painted by Luke fits in broad outline with that supplied by Josephus and, more briefly, by Tacitus. Although Josephus does say that Felix rightly convicted and executed many revolutionaries (some under the guise of prophets),95 he also clarifies that his plot and assassination of the High Priest Jonathan, by using the infamous sicarii, in fact created greater ruthlessness on the part of these assassins (Josephus, Ant. 20.162–7). He also reports that once his appointment had expired, the Jews from Caesarea went to Rome in order to accuse him. Josephus states that Felix was guilty of ἀδίκηματων toward the Jews and, if not for the intervention of his honourable brother Pallas, would have been condemned (Josephus, Ant. 20.182). In the Life, Josephus gives one example of the misdeeds of Felix. He sent to Rome, in bonds, certain priests who were extremely pious because of small and trifling (τύχουσαν) reasons (Josephus, Life 13). With this description Tacitus agrees, if expressing it in language that is more memorable. He states concerning the freedman Felix: ‘He practised every kind of cruelty (saevitiam) and lust, wielding the power of a king with all the instincts of a slave.’96 The picture of Felix in Acts as desiring a bribe also corresponds to the popular image of provincial magistrates who perverted justice by accepting gifts, both by plaintiffs to induce a conviction as well as by defendants to receive acquittal. Cicero, in speaking of the power to sway justice by those who were wealthy, states: ‘A belief has by this time established itself … and everywhere expressed not merely by our own people but by foreigners as well: the belief that these Courts, constituted as they now are, will never convict any man, however guilty, if only he has money.’97 In fact, the lex de repetundis had to be passed in order to curb the rapacity of the magistrates in the provinces.98 Luke’s description of Felix in this respect is in keeping with the general portraits of magistrates throughout the Empire. Felix 95 Josephus, War 2.253, 259, including the Egyptian false prophet, who escaped, 2.261–3. In Ant. 2.160 he emphasises the swiftness with which Felix did this. 96 Tacitus, Hist. 5.9. See also Tacitus, Ann. 12.54 for another negative description of Felix. 97 Cicero, Verr. 1.1.1. The assumption is that the judicial situation has not materially changed by the time of Paul’s trial. See also Tacitus, Ann. 1.2; Kelly, Roman Litigation, pp. 36–52. 98 See Lintott, Imperium Romanum, pp. 98–107.

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is thus presented as greedy and unjust, a negative description from one who often castigates the love of money (e.g. Acts 1.18; 5.1–11; 16.16–24). 7.3.3

Plot

The plot of 24.1–27 runs as follows: five days after Paul had been transferred to Herod’s praetorium, a group of Jews, including the High Priest Ananias, travelled down to Caesarea in order to conduct proceedings against Paul. They had hired a lawyer, Tertullus, to serve as their advocate. Tertullus accused Paul of being the ringleader of a sect that busied itself in fomenting sedition among Jews throughout the world. According to Tertullus, this accusation could be corroborated by Paul’s profanation of the Jerusalem temple. This was a political accusation. In his rebuttal, Paul admitted to being part of a so-called sect; nevertheless, he emphasised the theological dimension of his activities, saying, in effect, that his belief and praxis were the same as those of the Jewish ancestral faith. As to the charge of sedition, Paul refuted this by saying that his accusers could not prove their accusation. Regarding the matter of the temple, Paul stated that he had been found in this place while worshipping. In any case, the Asian Jews who purportedly had seen him profaning the temple were not even present at Caesarea to make their accusation. Felix postponed the case until Claudius Lysias had also come as an eyewitness. In the meantime, he eased Paul’s confinement and held conversations with him about faith in Jesus, partly motivated by a desire to receive a bribe from Paul. When Felix’s term as governor had come to an end, he left Paul imprisoned as a favour to the Jews. I would suggest that Luke’s purpose in this section is to portray Paul as innocent of the political charge of sedition that was being brought by the Jews.99 Luke accomplishes this by framing the entire episode as a forensic encounter with plaintiffs, defendant, and judge present. The setting makes it clear that Paul is on trial. Nevertheless, he is presented as innocent. First, his apologia is portrayed as having been effective. Secondly, Felix’s action of lightening Paul’s custody 99 Similarly, Johnson, Acts, p. 415: ‘In this instance, the drawn-out legal process, with all its false starts and delays, serves the literary function of unfolding (slowly and in segments) Paul’s true identity and integrity, not for the characters in the narrative, but for Luke’s readers themselves.’ At the same time, with Paul’s statements on the resurrection, apologia begins to shade into evangelism. See in this respect Alexander, ‘Acts as an Apologetic Text’, p. 25. Cf. Neagoe, The Trial of the Gospel, pp. 200–1.

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subsequent to the trial hearings would imply that the arguments he had heard suggested that Paul was not guilty.100 As these two pieces of corroboration have already been developed, we can move to the speech of the opponent Tertullus. My aim is to explore how Tertullus’ speech functions in the configuration of this episode. 7.3.4

The speech of Tertullus

The speech of this advocate is judicial. It is one of the more polished orations in the entire book of Acts, as it evinces crafty use of language.101 Bruce Winter suggests that the speech contains the following elements: exordium (vv. 2b–3), narratio (vv. 4–5), confirmatio (v. 6), and peroratio (v. 8).102 The exordium contains a captatio benevolentiae constructed as a genitive absolute, πολλῆς εἰρήνης τυγχάνοντες διὰ σοῦ καὶ διορθωμάτων γινομένων τῷ ἔθνει τούτῳ διὰ τῆς σῆς προνοίας, πάντῃ τε καὶ πανταχοῦ ἀποδεχόμεθα, κράτιστε Φῆλιξ, μετὰ πάσης εὐχαριστίας (‘Since we receive much peace through you and since reforms have been done to this nation through your foresight, in every way and everyplace we welcome [it], most excellent Felix, with all gratitude’). As Winter has observed, the use of the genitive absolute in a captatio was customary in the introduction of recorded trial proceedings.103 Tertullus’ comment about the reforms (διόρθωμα) of Felix could have referred to his swift punishment of bandits and his attempt to capture the Egyptian false prophet as recorded in Josephus.104 One of the most important aspects of the exordium was the expectation that in it the main line of argument of the speech would already be visible. Thus, in Rhetoric to Alexander 3.14 it is stated: ‘The proem can be described in a general way as a preparation of one’s audience and a declaration of the subject in summary manner for the benefit of the ignorant, in order that they may know with what the speech 100 Thus also Tannehill, Narrative Unity, Vol. 2, p. 301, ‘The “relaxation (ἄνεσις)” of Paul’s imprisonment indicated in v. 23 suggests that Felix was convinced by Lysias’ letter, the trial, or both that Paul is not a dangerous man.’ See also Haenchen, Acts, p. 658. 101 See Stephen Lösch, ‘Die Dankesrede des Tertullus: Apg 24, 1–4’, TQ 112 (1931): 295–319. 102 Winter, ‘The Importance’, pp. 515, 519–21. 103 Ibid., p. 508. 104 See Josephus, War 2.253, 259. Contrary to Winter, ‘The Importance’, pp. 515–16, however, Tertullus does appear to inflate Felix’s accomplishments. As I noted previously, in Ant. 20.162–7 Josephus declares that Felix’s murder of Jonathan by using the sicarii virtually reversed the order which he had previously established. Thus, Palestine was not as ideal during the time of Felix as Tertullus portrays it.

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is concerned and may follow the argument.’ Consequently, when Tertullus lauded Felix for his foresight in correcting evils through his reforms for the benefit of the Jewish nation, the implied reader may already anticipate what the thrust of the speech would be. The reason why Tertullus included in the exordium a captatio underlying Felix’s accomplishments in bringing peace to the Jewish nation is now clarified. Since Paul was depicted as one who incited riots among all the Jews, Felix was being persuaded to continue his actions of bringing order by now quelling Paul himself. Tertullus gave a derogatory description of Paul in v. 5: εὑρόντες γὰρ τòν ἄνδρα τοῦτον λοιμòν καὶ κινοῦντα στάσεις πᾶσιν τοῖς Ἰουδαίοις τοῖς κατὰ τὴν οἰκουμένην πρωτοστάτην τε τῆς τῶν Ναζωραίων αἱρέσεως (‘For we have found this man a plague, and one who stirs up riots among all the Jews throughout the world, and a ringleader of the sect of the Nazarenes’). The term λοιμός (plague) is normally used literally of pestilence.105 However, it is also used morally of evil persons in the Greek Bible,106 and of individuals who corrode or destroy society.107 Tertullus clarified what he meant by labelling Paul a plague when he added that Paul stirred up sedition (στάσις) throughout the empire as the ringleader of the Nazarene sect. Sherwin-White has compared the language used by Tertullus with the letter of Claudius to the Alexandrians of 41 CE.108 He puts forward the suggestion that specific vocabulary and argument were being used that would resonate with Claudius’ letter: The similarity is deliberate. It is evident that the narrative of Acts is using contemporary language. The charge was precisely the one to bring against a Jew during the Principate of Claudius or the early years of Nero. The accusers of Paul E.g. Thucydides 2.54.3; Appian 1.4; 3.1.4; Plutarch, Vit. 6.3; 19.4. For example, when Hannah prayed silently and Eli took her for a drunkard, she responded: μὴ δῷς τὴν δούλην σου εἰς θυγατέρα λοιμήν (1Kgs 1.16). See also 1 Kgs 30.22; Ps. 1.1; 1 Macc. 15.21. 107 Demosthenes, Against Aristogeiton 1.80. See also Aeilian, VH 14.11, where allegedly Philiscus once remarked to Alexander the Great: “‘Take care of your reputation; don’t become a plague (ἀλλὰ μὴ ἔσο λοιμός) …” By plague he meant violent and savage rule, the capture of cities, the destruction of populations (αἱρεῖν πόλεις καὶ ἀπολλύειν δήμους).’ 108 The text of the letter as well as a translation can be found in Jews and Christians in Egypt: The Jewish Troubles in Alexandria and the Athanasian Controversy Illustrated by Texts from Greek Papyri in the British Museum, ed. H. Idris Bell (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1924), pp. 23–9. The terms στάσεως and οἰκουμένης are employed by Claudius. 105 106

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Whether Felix would have recognised this contemporary vocabulary or not, it is very clear that the Jews were advancing a political accusation, charging Paul with sedition.110 The charge having been laid out, Tertullus now proceeded to give his proof. He states in v. 6 that Paul had attempted to profane the temple before he was seized by the Jews.111 This shows, according to Tertullus, that Paul had indeed caused agitation among the Jews. As we noted previously, this proof of the charge could not be sustained because those who had supposedly seen Paul rioting in the temple, namely the Asian Jews, were not present for the current hearing. Tertullus closed his speech by assuring Felix that he himself, after cross-examining Paul, would be able to ascertain the charges just proffered: παρ’ οὗ δυνήσῃ αὐτòς ἀνακρίνας περὶ πάντων τούτων ἐπιγνῶναι ὧν ἡμεῖς κατηγοροῦμεν αὐτοῦ (v. 8). This was a shrewd move on the part of the orator. It implied that the guilt of the defendant was so self-evident that he did not even need to press the matter any further: Felix would see his guilt easily enough. In addition, it tried to show the confidence that the Jews had in Felix to rule in their favour. Subtle pressure was thus being put on this Roman magistrate to judge against Paul.

Sherwin-White, Roman Society, pp. 51–2. The charge was probably either maiestas or vis. As Robinson explains, The Criminal Law, pp. 78–80, there was no clear boundary between the two. Jervell, Apostelgeschichte, p. 568, seems to go against the grain of scholarship when he says concerning this passage that for Luke, the Romans just provide a setting for the battle between Pauline Christianity and Judaism. He states, ‘Στάσις kann auch Aufruhr heissen, aber Paulus wird nicht wegen politischer seditio angeklagt … Lukas verwendet στάσις auch in der Bedeutung “Spaltung” … Lukas will aber allein die Auseinandersetzung zwischen Judentum und paulinischem Christentum schildern … so ist die Sache klar: Paulus spaltet und sprengt Israel.’ But it is precisely this ‘Spaltung’ that could have caused a riot and thus earned Paul the accusation of sedition. To be noted is Paul’s astute rebuttal in 24.12, καὶ οὔτε ἐν τῷ ἱερῷ εὗρόν με πρός τινα διαλεγόμενον ἢ ἐπίστασιν ποιοῦντα ὄχλου κτλ. 111 Several mss. (e.g. E, Ψ, 33, Byzpt) add καὶ κατὰ τòν ἡμέτερον νόμον ἠθελήσαμεν κρῖναι. παρελθὼν δὲ Λυσίας ὁ χιλίαρχος μετὰ πολλῆς βίας ἐκ τῶν χειρῶν ἡμῶν ἀπήγαγε, κελεύσας τοὺς κατηγόρους αὐτοῦ ἔρχεσθαι ἐπὶ σέ. This describes the events of 21.27–36. However, the statement of the Jews, that they wanted κρῖναι Paul, hardly matches Luke’s description of the event; rather, the Jews wanted to kill Paul: ζητούντων τε αὐτòν ἀποκτεῖναι κτλ (21.31). The manuscript support for the shorter reading is to be preferred (e.g. p74, ‫אּ‬, A, B). 109 110

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The function of the speech of Tertullus

The speech of Tertullus can be seen to function at two levels. On the one hand, in the text itself, it serves the task of clearly presenting the charge levelled against Paul. Although Paul had been prosecuted in previous episodes (16.19–21; 17.6–7; 18.12–13), it was on this occasion that the accusations were set out with most skill and clarity.112 The indictment was given a political spin, suggesting that Paul harassed the world of Jewry and was thus the creator of riots. The speech can also have an effect at the level of subtext, namely, with the audience of Luke–Acts. In order to probe this possibility, it is necessary to compare Acts 24.5 with Lk. 23.1–5. The latter passage recounts Jesus’ hearing before Pilate in which Lukan redaction is apparent. Both Matt. 27.1–2, 11–14 and Mk 15.2–5 report Jesus being brought before Pilate and being accused by the Jerusalem leadership; both include Pilate’s question to Jesus regarding his alleged claim to be the Messiah; both include Jesus’ response, σὺ λέγεις; and both include Pilate’s acquittal of Jesus. While Luke shares these elements with Matthew and Mark, he adds113 the content of the Jewish accusation in oratio recta: ἤρξαντο δὲ κατηγορεῖν αὐτοῦ λέγοντες, τοῦτον εὕραμεν διαστρέφοντα τò ἔθνος ἡμῶν καὶ κωλύοντα φόρους Καίσαρι διδόναι καὶ λέγοντα ἑαυτòν Χριστòν βασιλέα εἶναι (23.2). He also includes the Jewish insistence after Pilate had cleared Jesus: οἱ δὲ ἐπίσχυον λέγοντες ὅτι Ἀνασείει τòν λαòν διδάσκων καθ’ ὅλης τῆς Ἰουδαίας, καὶ ἀρξάμενος ἀπò τῆς Γαλιλαίας ἕως ὧδε (23.5). The remarkable similarities, both in wording and content, of the Jewish accusation of Jesus and the Jewish accusation of Paul in Acts 24 have been noted by a number of scholars.114 Recently, Heike Omerzu has conducted a detailed formal comparison between the charges proffered against Jesus as reported in Luke’s first volume and the charges brought against Paul before Felix. She notes: (1) the use of the verb εὑρίσκω in both passages, (2) the similar sense of the expressions κινοῦντα στάσεις in Acts 24.5 and διαστρέφοντα and ἀνασείει in Lk. 23.2, 5, and (3) the comment that Jesus and Paul inflamed the whole of Jewry: πᾶσιν τοῖς Ἰουδαίοις τοῖς κατὰ τὴν οἰκουμένην of Cf. Gaventa, Acts, p. 325. This study assumes – for lack of a better solution to date – a two-source hypothesis with Markan priority. 114 See, e.g. Bruce, Book of the Acts, p. 439, n. 7; Tannehill, The Narrative Unity, Vol. 2, p. 297. 112 113

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Paul, and τòν λαòν διδάσκων καθ’ ὅλης τῆς Ἰουδαίας, καὶ ἀρξάμενος ἀπò τῆς Γαλιλαίας ἕως ὧδε, of Jesus.115 While Omerzu and other authors have noted the formal correspondences between the two accusations, they have nevertheless not gone as far as to probe how these impinge on the speech of Tertullus. In addition to marking the Jesus–Paul parallel in general, I would suggest that the description of Paul’s behaviour as depicted by Tertullus – because of its identicalness to Jesus’ alleged acts – is profoundly ironic. Tertullus’ attempt in his speech (as portrayed by Luke) was to depict Paul as a dangerous revolutionary who presented a threat to Rome. Nevertheless, by linking Paul to Jesus through means of identical political charges, he has, unwittingly, actually shown Paul in a positive light to the readers of Luke–Acts.116 For the characters in the story, this conclusion could not have been reached, as they neither knew the Gospel of Luke nor had a favourable view of Jesus (with the exception of Paul). For Luke’s Christian audience (knowledgeable of his Gospel), on the other hand, Jesus was not a political insurgent; he was the Messiah, who, while innocent (e.g. Acts 13.28), was nevertheless crucified. When being presented with the accusation against Paul – strikingly similar in word and content to that of Jesus – the readers of Acts would have placed him in continuation with Jesus and hence as necessarily innocent. To be charged as Jesus was, the audience may have thought, was actually an honour. From the religious point of view, the fact that Paul, as a disciple of Jesus, was being accused with the same offence as his master would have legitimated him as a genuine messenger of the gospel.117 115 Omerzu, Der Prozeß des Paulus, pp. 428–30. Omerzu herself, while noticing the correspondences, concludes that the charge against Jesus was maiestas while that against Paul was seditio. However, Omerzu has overlooked the thin boundary line that existed between maiestas and seditio. Richard A. Bauman, The Crimen Maiestatis in the Roman Republic and Augustan Principate (Johannesburg: Witwatersrand University Press, 1967), p. 261, has stated in this respect that during the Principate ‘incitement to sedition was already maiestas’. 116 Tertullus’ ignorance resides in the intended effect of his words vis-à-vis the audience of Luke–Acts, and not necessarily in the correlation of the accusation against Jesus to Paul. It is quite possible that, having been informed by the Sanhedrin of the effectiveness of the maiestas charge against Jesus, Tertullus was attempting the same tactic. In the case of Jesus, this resulted in the Jews taking jurisdiction of his case. As Acts 25.3, 15–16 hints, the accusing Jews also wanted to take jurisdiction of Paul’s case by petitioning Festus to bring Paul to Jerusalem to prosecute him there. This in no way blunts the irony; the probability remains that Tertullus did not expect that his accusation would actually vindicate Paul before the readers of Luke–Acts. See further above. 117 Haenchen, Acts, p. 653: ‘Luke shows that as it happened to the Master so too with the disciples.’

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Tertullus, in fact, while apparently attempting to indict Paul, has actually acquitted him of the crime with which he charged him, at least from the perspective of the audience of Luke–Acts. This is prototypical dramatic irony as it clearly displays its constituent marks. First, Tertullus is the ‘victim’, who while attempting to depict Paul as a malefactor has, by linking Paul to Jesus, actually ended up demonstrating Paul’s innocence. Secondly, there is significance at two levels: for the characters in the story the accusation attempts to portray Paul as guilty, while for the readers the accusation leads them to appraise Paul as not guilty. Thirdly, there is tension between the two levels of text and subtext – at the one level Paul is being prosecuted while at the other level he is being honoured. The irony is also stable. The deeper message of the irony is that Paul, because of his profound association with Jesus, is not guilty of the charge brought against him. As we noted previously, this acquittal of Paul also appeared to be the main thrust of the episode before Felix. The irony, therefore, is embedded in the context, as through it Luke attempts to communicate what the narrator is telling his audience apart from the use of irony. 7.3.6

Conclusion

Acts 24.1–27 lays out the first formal trial against Paul. I have argued that Luke’s central point in this episode was to portray Paul as innocent of the charge of sedition brought against him. He attempted to accomplish this by presenting Paul as giving a deft defence and by Felix’s decision, after the hearing, to relax Paul’s custody. It is within this plot movement that the speech of the opponent Tertullus is to be viewed. The speech, I argued, had two functions. First, at the level of text, it was a competent denunciation of Paul as one who caused sedition among the Jews around the world. Secondly, at the level of subtext, besides presenting the charge against Paul, the speech complemented the main thrust of the narrative by, ironically, demonstrating Paul’s innocence. The irony of the speech was found in the narratio section, where Tertullus’ charge was virtually identical to the charge that had previously been brought against Jesus as recorded in Luke’s first volume. For a disciple of Jesus, as Paul was, to be charged with the same offence as the Master was encomiastic rather than invective. Further, since for the audience of Luke–Acts Jesus was completely innocent of the charge brought against him, it followed that Paul, indicted of the same offence while also imitating his

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Master, was also innocent. This form of argument through irony would not have been effective with those who were opposed to the Jesus movement; too much was assumed that they simply would not have accepted. For an audience, however, who had already embraced certain beliefs about Jesus, this dramatic ironic manoeuvre would have been readily accepted. In short, Luke’s audience would have seen how Tertullus, unwittingly, by attempting to defame Paul, had actually supported the narrator’s argument in 24.1–27, namely, that Paul was innocent of sedition. This conclusion can be reached only if we seriously take into account the complexity and gap between text and subtext; because the audience being addressed in the narrative is often different from the actual audience, the possibility for a twostorey framework of meaning is thus opened. 7.4

The speech of Festus (25.23–7)

7.4.1

Setting

The spatial environments have not changed since the previous episode. Paul remained at Herod’s praetorium where the events narrated in this pericope take place. Luke adds a detail, however, that was not previously mentioned. He states in 25.23 that the hearing took place in the ‘audience hall’ (ἀκροατήριον). The term can refer to a location where a formal hearing takes place, akin to a lecture room.118 It may also point to any spot where a story can be heard,119 or to an actual audience.120 What is to be noted here is the lack of a primarily judicial denotation in the term; that is to say, it was not a word that immediately conjured up a forensic scenario.121 While it is not to be doubted that the audience hall could serve as a place to hold court, the fact that Luke used the term ἀκροατήριον, with its lack of a judicial sense, leads the reader to conclude that the ensuing episode was not strictly a trial. This is supported by 25.26–7, where Festus made it obvious that the purpose of the hearing was to provide him with a clearer picture of Paul’s case for the benefit of

Thus Epictetus, Dis. 3.23.8; Plutarch, Mor. 45. Thus Heliodorus, Aeth. 2.21.6. 120 Plutarch, Mor. 522 E; 937 D. Noted correctly by Skinner, Locating Paul, p. 145, n. 94. Tajra, The Trial of St. Paul, p. 160, overlooks this. 118 119 121

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the emperor.122 It is perhaps these circumstances that propel Paul to turn his defence into direct evangelism toward the end of the speech. Another aspect of the setting highlighted by Luke is the social dynamic of 25.23–7. In describing the audience who gathered to hear Paul, Luke makes the following two points. First, Agrippa and Bernice are said to have arrived with ‘great pomp’ (μετὰ πολλῆς φαντασίας).123 Luke’s detail here borders on the humorous; surely there was no need for parading when attending a session with a prisoner. The second point that contributes to the social dynamic of the episode is the mention of the social status of those who had come to hear Paul’s speech. Among the audience, besides King Agrippa and Bernice, were tribunes (χιλιάρχοις) as well as ‘prominent men of the city (ἀνδράσιν τοῖς κατ’ ἐξοχὴν τῆς πόλεως). Luke wants to make it clear that the social elite of Caesarea and of local Jewry had come to consider this interesting prisoner. In contrast to this influential audience stood Paul. He was detained, he wore chains (26.29), and he had to be given permission to address the listeners (26.1, Ἀγρίππας δὲ πρòς τòν Παῦλον ἔφη, ἐπιτρέπεταί σοι περὶ σεαυτοῦ λέγειν). For the characters in the story, it is clear that Paul stood as the honourless criminal, a humilior in contrast to a group of honestiores.124 For the reading audience, on the other hand, it is precisely through this degrading situation that Paul was able to fulfil his evangelistic destiny as prophesied by the risen Jesus: σκεῦος ἐκλογῆς ἐστίν μοι οὗτος τοῦ βαστάσαι τò ὄνομά μου ἐνώπιον ἐθνῶν τε καὶ βασιλέων υἱῶν τε Ἰσραήλ (9.15; cf. Lk. 21.12–15). A place of humiliation is thus subverted – for Luke–Acts’ readers – and becomes at the same time a place of fulfilment.

122 Barrett, Acts, Vol. 2, pp. 1145–6, ‘[The audience hall] is by no means necessarily a law court, and the use of the word suggests, or at least is consistent with, an informal hearing; this indeed it must have been. Once the appeal to the Emperor’s court had been made and allowed no lower court had any right to try Paul.’ 123 On φαντασία as denoting pomp, see BDAG, s.v. The syntax is not altogether precise as to whether it was only Bernice or both Agrippa and Bernice who displayed such pageantry. 124 On humiliores and honestiores as vocabulary used in the context of Roman law, see Garnsey, Social Status, pp. 221–3. It is doubtful, as John Clayton Lentz argues, Luke’s Portrait of Paul (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), p. 91, that Paul is here presented as influential due to his high social status; the text seems to imply the contrary.

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7.4.2

Characters

7.4.2.1 Festus Characterisation of Festus is provided through both indirect presentation (i.e., speeches and dialogues) and direct definition (i.e., narrative asides). What is particularly notable in the presentation of the character of Festus is the incongruity between information directly provided by the narrator and information given by Festus himself. This discrepancy comes to a head in a comparison of 25.9 and 25.20. The latter passage records a dialogue between Festus and Agrippa. Festus laid out Paul’s case before Agrippa, stating in 25.19 his opinion that it consisted of matters of Jewish religion involving a certain Jesus (ζητήματα δέ τινα περὶ τῆς ἰδίας δεισιδαιμονίας εἶχον πρòς αὐτòν καὶ περί τινος Ἰησοῦ τεθνηκότος, ὃν ἔφασκεν ὁ Παῦλος ζῆν). This caused him to hold the view that Paul had not committed a criminal action (25.18). In v. 20, however, Festus tells Agrippa that he had suggested to Paul to go to Jerusalem in order to be tried there. Festus gave the following motive for this suggestion: ἀπορούμενος δὲ ἐγὼ τὴν περὶ τούτων ζήτησιν κτλ. That is to say, since such religious matters went beyond his areas of competence, he believed that Jerusalem would provide a more competent (and hence just) venue for Paul’s case. Festus’ motives as disclosed in his conversation with Agrippa, however, conflict with the narrator’s own revelation. In 25.9 Festus had indeed suggested to Paul that a trial in Jerusalem was feasible. However, the omniscient narrator stated that this offer was not based on Festus’ desire to ensure that Paul would be judged in a court with better religious acumen; rather, the narrator unmasks Festus by clarifying that this was done θέλων τοῖς Ἰουδαίοις χάριν καταθέσθαι. This statement does not negate Festus’ possible incompetence in relation to Jewish religious disputes: it could very well be true that he was at a loss as to how to proceed with this case. However, what the narrative aside in 25.9 does accomplish is to inform the reader that the principal motive in Festus’ suggestion was to grant the Jews a favour. Since in biblical narrative the viewpoint of the omniscient narrator is reliable, the implied reader is to conclude that Festus was concealing his true (unjust) motives from Agrippa.125 125 Tannehill, Narrative Unity, Vol. 2, p. 313: ‘Nevertheless, whether Festus is weak or calculating, the narrator’s statement in v. 9 holds: Festus wanted “to grant a favor to the Jews” who were accusing Paul. He has ceased to be a just judge.’

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The above interpretation, however, is not without its problems. Particularly, Festus’ statement in 25.9, that Paul could be judged in Jerusalem ἐπ’ ἐμοῦ prompts the following question: if the Roman Festus would preside over the case, what would have been Paul’s disadvantage if he had been tried in Jerusalem? Presumably, he would still have been judged by a representative of Rome.126 In this light, Festus’ desire to grant the Jews a favour does not seem nearly as devious as had been initially suggested. Nevertheless, the text itself provides clues to suggest that Paul would have fared badly had his case been transferred to Jerusalem. First, Paul himself was convinced that a judgement in Jerusalem would not be one under Roman jurisdiction. He protested: ἐστὼς ἐπὶ τοῦ βήματος Καίσαρός εἰμι, οὗ με δεῖ κρίνεσθαι (25.10). Secondly, in 25.10b Paul confronts Festus by telling him that he (Festus) knew quite well that he was innocent of any Jewish wrongdoing. The implication is that Paul was aware of Festus’ fraudulence.127 The third clue in the narrative that fills the gaps in Festus’ character is the participial phrase used in 25.9: θέλων τοῖς Ἰουδαίοις χάριν καταθέσθαι. What should be noted is that the exact same phrase (with little variation in order) was used of Felix in 24.27 in describing the reason why he had left Paul incarcerated. For implied readers who have already heard the phrase used of the obviously double-minded Felix, the conclusion may very well have been reached that Festus also had dual motives. It could thus be concluded that Luke characterises Festus as one who on the one hand recognised Paul’s innocence and granted him his right of provocatio, but on the other hand as one who, although knowing that Paul was innocent and should have been released (25.10, 18–19; 26.31), nevertheless did not release him because of his desire to grant a favour to the Jews.128 How does Luke’s portrait of Festus compare to other sources? Unfortunately, the only external source, Josephus, sandwiches Festus between the more momentous procuratorships of Felix and Albinus, giving little space to Festus. He was appointed by Nero to 126

Apparently, modern interpreters have not been the only ones puzzled by this: the miniscule 33 adds after κριθῆναι the particle ἢ, the sense being that Paul could be judged at Jerusalem or by him (Festus) in Caesarea. Tajra, The Trial of St. Paul, pp. 141–2, attempts to explain the prepositional phrase ἐπ’ ἐμοῦ as indicating that Festus would be present at the hearings in Jerusalem but not presiding. This is possible but unlikely. See Barrett, Acts, Vol. 2, p. 1127. 127 Thus also Gaventa, Acts, p. 334. 128 Thus also Marshall, Acts, p. 389. It is possible that Festus feared a Jewish delegation going to Rome and complaining about him to Nero, as occurred with Felix.

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succeed Felix.129 His principal deed was the capture of λῃστῶν, many of which he executed, as well as confrontations (with some success) against the sicarii who, because of Felix’s own schemes, continued acting ruthlessly, ravaging the entire land of Palestine.130 One particular episode gives a picture of Festus which is similar to that given by Luke. Josephus tells us that Agrippa II had built a large chamber in his Jerusalem palace from where he could view the entire city. However, he also used the vantage point to cast an eye on temple proceedings. The elite of Jerusalem, feeling spied upon, constructed a high wall that blocked Agrippa’s view of the temple. Agrippa and Festus were both furious at this action. Festus commanded the Jews to pull the wall down. However, they pleaded with him to allow them to bring the matter before Nero in Rome. This he allowed, and Nero sided with the Jewish embassy (Josephus, Ant. 20.189–95). This action gives a similar portrait to Luke’s, showing a man who was anxious not to offend the elite Jews. 7.4.2.2 Agrippa Marcus Julius Agrippa was a notable figure in the first century CE. Josephus, the source from which we have most knowledge about Agrippa, portrays him as often brokering between the Jews and the Romans. Agrippa was indeed concerned for the well-being of the Jews and their customs; at the same time, he was willing to co-operate with Rome in bringing down those revolutionaries who, according to Josephus, were the cause of the Jewish war. Josephus presents him as one who was pro-Roman and yet empathised and attempted to help the Jews in their travails. He was in good standing with Rome.131 Luke’s characterisation of Agrippa, although less critical than those of Felix and Festus, is nevertheless not wholly favourable.132 129 Josephus, Ant. 20.182. On the chronological problems with Festus’ administration, see Lambertz in PW. 130 Josephus, War 2.21; Ant. 20.185–8. 131 On Agrippa as an advocate for the Jewish cause yet fully co-operative with the Romans (thus following the example of his father, Agrippa I), see Josephus, War 2.245= Ant. 20.135 (where he offers a spirited defence on behalf of the Jews before Claudius); 2.344–407 (his long speech dissuading the Jews from rebellion based partially on his belief that Rome was in power according to the will of God); 2.523–6; 5.36 (his repair of the temple). However, he did offend the Jews of Berytus by his buildings and spectacles (Ant. 20.211–12). 132 Cf. Robert O’Toole, Acts 26: The Christological Climax of Paul’s Defense (Ac 22:1–26:32) (Rome: Biblical Institute Press, 1978), p. 15.

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In particular, he is presented in 26.28 as rejecting Paul’s message. In addition, although he affirmed with the others Paul’s basic innocence, he did not make any attempts to secure his liberty.133 What mattered to Luke, however, was not the benevolence of Agrippa, but his verdict as one who was abreast of Jewish customs (26.2–3).134 In addition, since Paul was after all accused of infracting Roman law, Agrippa’s verdict may be consequential. Josephus portrays Agrippa as one who, although considerate of the Jews, nevertheless was fully on the side of the Romans when it came to Jewish insurgences. He had vast experience with seditious movements in Palestine. Paul, we know from Tertullus’ accusation in Acts 24, was accused of sedition. Would it be expected that someone like Agrippa, who was both firmly proRoman and who had little patience for Jewish seditionists, would have declared Paul innocent had he not firmly believed that in fact he was guiltless? By having Agrippa – expert in Jewish matters and friend of Rome – declare Paul’s innocence, a strong apology is constructed on behalf of Paul.135 7.4.3

The speech of Festus

It is difficult to categorise this speech under any of the three species of rhetoric.136 It is not forensic since this entire scene is not strictly speaking judicial (although some legal terms are used, see below). It is not deliberative, as Festus does not give (he rather seeks) advice as to any future action. Neither is it epideictic, although the statement in v. 25 has an encomiastic ring to it in that it voices Paul’s innocence. The speech, however, does evince an A-B-A′ pattern. In the first section (A), Festus attempted to get the attention of the audience, particularly of King Agrippa, as this latter was addressed in the vocative form (βασιλεῦ). Since Festus’ ostensive motive was to Although Paul had already made use of provocatio, it would not have been difficult for someone of the stature of Agrippa (of course with Festus’ approval) to set Paul at liberty and forget the provocatio. Barrett, Acts, Vol. 2, p. 1148: ‘If Festus was convinced that Paul was innocent he could have released him at once; he may however have recognized that it was in Paul’s interests to be packed safely off to Rome.’ Gaventa, Acts, p. 347, seems to capture the heart of the issue: ‘As a single voice, they declare what has been clear since 23:29, that Paul is innocent of any charges. Agrippa reinforces that judgment with his final remark to Festus. Yet these declarations are cheap …’ 134 See O’Toole, The Christological Climax, p. 19. 135 See also Johnson, Acts, pp. 427–8, for a similar observation. 136 Kennedy, New Testament Interpretation, p. 137, leaves the speech unclassified. But cf. Soards, The Speeches, p. 121. 133

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receive help from his audience, he wanted to ensure that it would be completely attentive. The audience is thus seen to be the focal point of this speech. Section B (vv. 24b–5) directly narrates the outline of Paul’s case. Festus provides an antithesis on how the prisoner was looked upon by his accusers the Jerusalem Jews and how he himself viewed the status of Paul. The accusers, whom Festus, given the occasion, exaggerated as ἅπαν τò πλῆθος τῶν Ἰουδαίων, unequivocally wanted Paul dead. For his part,137 however, Festus was convinced that Paul had done nothing that deserved death. Both the location of this statement in the chiastic structure of the speech as well as the fact that it is voiced several times in other sections of Acts (see, e.g., 23.29; 25.18; 26.31–2), make this the crucial assertion of the entire speech of Festus.138 He concluded his narration by stating that, since Paul had appealed to Caesar, he would comply by sending him there.139 Section A′ (vv. 26–7) returns the focus on the audience. Since Paul had appealed to Caesar, a report had to be sent competently explaining the charges against Paul and presumably why Festus had not given him liberty.140 Hence, the help of the audience, particularly of Agrippa, was needed. 7.4.4

The function of the speech of Festus

The speech of Festus, unlike other speeches of outsiders in Acts, does not display dramatic irony. However, it does form part of the motif of Paul’s innocence that has been accented earlier by other Roman and city officials (e.g. Gallio, the Town Clerk, and Lysias).141 This declaration of Paul’s innocence is most visible in 25.23–26.32, as it is presented in the form of an inclusio: 25.25 states Paul’s innocence, followed by Paul’s own speech, and then there is the second part of the The phrase ἐγὼ δὲ κατελαβόμην is surely emphatic. See Barrett, Acts, Vol. 2, p. 1147; Johnson, Acts, p. 429. All these declarations of innocence occur in direct speech. Marguerat, The First Christian Historian, p. 217, calls the repetitions of Paul’s innocence a ‘leitmotiv’ of the last section of Acts. 139 Is Festus implying that he would have freed Paul had the latter not appealed to Caesar? This interpretation would be in keeping with what we already saw in the comparison between 25.9 and 25.20, i.e., Festus’ dishonesty. 140 On the legal terms used in this section, see Barrett, Acts, Vol. 2, pp. 1147–8. 141 In addition, since the theme of Paul’s innocence appears to be of particular significance for Luke’s audience (hence the multiple declarations of innocence throughout the narrative) and not just the dramatis personae, the speech does share dramatic ironic elements. 137 138

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inclusio in 26.30–2, where through a dialogue of the elite Paul’s innocence is again stated. As such, the speech is part of Luke’s apologetic strategy. The apology portrays Paul as one who is innocent of breaking Roman law. 7.4.5

Conclusion

The speech of Festus is the final speech of an outsider in the Acts of the Apostles. It shares one of the themes of other speeches uttered by highranking officials, namely, that Paul was no malefactor. Although the speech does not demonstrate dramatic irony, insofar as it seeks to go beyond the dramatic situation to the original audience, that is, the subtext, it could be said that the speech has a similar function as dramatic irony. The speech, however, is clearly being used to forward Luke’s own point of view. By emphasising Paul’s innocence, Festus is presented as being in agreement with Luke’s conclusion. 7.5

Conclusion

In this chapter we have examined the speeches of three outsiders: Claudius Lysias, Tertullus, and Festus. Two themes have emerged. First, it became apparent that outsiders, by acting in a way that was partly self-serving, had actually ended up aiding the promise of the risen Jesus, that is, that testimony to him must also be borne at Rome. We observed this in the speech-act of Claudius Lysias. He rescued Paul and promptly dispatched him to Caesarea after hearing of the Jewish complot. While his motivation was certainly not the advancement of the word, nevertheless he was the means through which Paul was able to draw closer to his divine destination of Rome as foretold by Jesus. As we noted, this was an example of dramatic irony, very similar to that observed in the actions of Gamaliel, Gallio, and the Ephesian Town Clerk. The second theme that emerged from the speeches of outsiders was the conclusion that Paul was not guilty of breaking Roman law. This conclusion was reached with and without the use of dramatic irony. In the first case, Tertullus attempted to smear Paul’s character by labelling him a seditionist. We noted that the charge and vocabulary used by Tertullus against Paul were markedly similar to the wording and charge against Jesus in Luke’s Gospel. Consequently, the audience of Luke–Acts, by noting these correspondences, may have reached the conclusion that, just as Jesus, Paul was being falsely

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accused. Tertullus’ invective had turned out to be encomiastic in the eyes of Luke’s audience. Paul’s innocence was reinforced by another outsider, this time without the use of dramatic irony. Festus had declared that Paul was innocent of the charges brought against him. This verdict was echoed by a group of non-Christians who took part in the last hearing at Caesarea, including Agrippa II. We can therefore conclude that Luke has used the speeches of outsiders to advance his own ideological views. Through these he has bolstered two of his fundamental convictions, namely, that the Jesus movement was under the historical superintendence of God (hence even the acts of outsiders help in the forwarding of the gospel) and that Paul was innocent of infracting Roman law – and by extension the Christian movement. In the following and final chapter, I attempt to bring together the different threads of this project, making suggestions about the possible purpose and historiographic orientation of Acts.

8 C O N C L U S IO N S

I have completed my detailed exegesis of the relevant texts, both of biblical and post-biblical Jewish narrative texts as well as Acts. It is now the proper time to summarise my results, propose a possible historical scenario for the real readers of Luke–Acts, and sketch the implications of my findings for the historiographic orientation of Acts. 8.1

Review and summary

After an introductory chapter which attempted to highlight the need for the current study, I continued by placing the current project in the wider field of research on the speeches in Acts (chapter two). I argued that from the time that the Tübingen school began to make its mark on New Testament studies, the agenda dominating research on the speeches was concerned with their theology and historicity. The tide of scholarship slowly began to move in a different direction with the monumental essay of Martin Dibelius, ‘The Speeches in Acts and Ancient Historiography’. On the one hand, Dibelius remained moored to contemporary questions by probing Luke’s method of speech reporting and by comparing it to the method of the ancient historians. On the other hand, he moved scholarship forward by asking more literarily oriented questions: his task was to determine ‘the meaning to be attributed to the speeches in the work as a whole’.1 With the importation of the methods of New Criticism (and with the previous impetus of redaction criticism) into New Testament studies in the seventies, research on the speeches began to move beyond the morass of fact versus fiction. In a work which was the symbolic apex of the new direction of study on the speeches, Marion Soards published in 1994 his ambitious work, The Speeches in Acts, in which he examined all the speeches in Acts in order to explore their function in the book as 1

Dibelius, ‘The Speeches in Acts’, in Studies, p. 145.

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a whole. In addition, the work of Todd Penner paid considerable attention to the speech of Stephen in order to refine our understanding of historia as conceived by Luke. The project at hand has been placed within this context of scholarship on the speeches. It asked what function(s) the speeches of outsiders have on Acts as a whole and what can be learned of Luke’s historiography through the grid of the speech of the outsider. Chapter three of this project sought to explore the use of the speeches of outsiders in biblical and Second Temple narrative literature. I investigated several speeches and proposed the following literary motif encircling the relevant speeches. First, the speeches were given by characters of privileged social status. Secondly, with only one exception in Josephus, all of the speeches were uttered by characters who were not converts to Judaism. Thirdly, the speeches reinforced and complemented the overall thrust of the implied author’s message in the particular book. Specifically, the outsiders acknowledged the legitimacy of the Jews as the people of God, cleared them from the charge of sedition against the state, and aided – sometimes unwittingly – in the fulfilment of prophetic promises. From this pattern I reached the following conclusion: the speeches of outsiders in biblical and Second Temple narrative literature were used to stress the implied author’s own Jewish theological agenda. I further argued that by having even the outsider – and one of high social status at that – acknowledge those things that were most dear to Judaica, the biblical and Second Temple authors were making affirmations about Yahweh’s historical sovereignty that were sorely needed for an ethnic group that still viewed itself as being in exile. The following chapters of the work (chapters four to seven) – by using an assortment of methods including narrative criticism, rhetorical criticism, and historical criticism – investigated the speeches of the following outsiders: Gamaliel, Gallio, Demetrius, the Ephesian Town Clerk, Claudius Lysias, Tertullus, and Festus. I pointed out that despite the fact that Luke had included in his second volume numerous speeches of outsiders, these had never been studied either in depth or as a corpus. After detailed analysis of these speeches, I suggested a literary topos surrounding the speeches of outsiders. First, the majority of the speakers were of high social status. Secondly, none of the speakers were in principle ‘friendly’ towards the Christians. Thirdly, the speeches came at points in the narrative where conflict had reached its peak. Fourthly, the speeches complemented and corroborated the message that the narrator was transmitting in the particular pericope where they were found. Specifically, the outsiders cleared

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the Christians of seditious behaviour and – unwittingly – affirmed their legitimacy as the people of God. Furthermore, the speeches of outsiders were one of the means by which the apostles were able to continue their movement in the Roman world in order to fulfil the mission of the risen Jesus. This pattern led me to reach the following conclusion: Luke used the speeches of outsiders for the purpose of advancing his own theological agenda. By comparing these two corpora of literature, we noted that there were strong convergences between the use of the speech of an outsider in Acts and in biblical/Second Temple narrative literature. This observation allowed me to add further precision and depth to our understanding of the function of the speeches of outsiders in Acts. I thus reach the final conclusion as to the place of the speeches of outsiders in the Acts of the Apostles: Luke used the speeches of outsiders as one of the channels through which to convey his own ideology. This literary technique was built upon a theological/historiographic foundation that adhered to the following logic: if God’s control over the history of the Jesus movement was such that even the outsider – unwittingly – was helping in its propagation, then it truly must be a movement sanctioned by God. The speeches of outsiders in Acts, therefore, are used as a legitimating factor for its readers. I shall develop this conclusion in §8.2. 8.2

The speeches of outsiders and the historical context of Luke–Acts’ readers: a community in need of identity reassurance

In the Introduction to this project I lodged a criticism against some practitioners of narrative criticism. I noted that, as heirs of the New Critics, many biblical scholars (sometimes unquestioningly) brought aboard their interpretative enterprises certain illegitimate presuppositions about the referential possibilities of biblical narrative material. In particular, some narrative critics heralded the need to confine our epistemological horizons to the world of the text: what we observe in the narrative world should not be brought to bear on the ‘real’ world. Such compartmentalising, indeed elitism, with regard to methods, I argued, is unwarranted. The narrative and the historical must meet in texts that purport to transmit historical information, even if the history transmitted by the texts turns out to be factually defective. This leads to the following proposal concerning the possible historical scenario of the community to which Luke wrote. I present the argument in four stages.

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1.

It is more or less a consensus in Lukan scholarship that the story of the church recounted in Acts is to be viewed as the continuing narrative of God’s involvement with his people Israel.2 I argued in chapter three that the authors of many narratives in biblical and Second Temple books often used the speeches of outsiders to project their Jewish theology, highlighting in this manner God’s continued involvement in the history of his people. I argued that this consolation was needed because many of the Jews still viewed themselves as exiles; they needed reassurance that God had not abandoned them as a people. This condition of exile was accented by (what they often perceived as) religious pressure from outsiders. Luke, I argued from close observation of his narrative construal, employed the same technique with the same theological concomitant as those Jewish authors that we examined in chapter three. Therefore, it is plausible (although not inescapable) to hypothesise that, just as in the case of the communities being addressed in the Jewish works examined, so also the community which Luke addressed needed reassurance about its status as the people of God. Like the Jewish authors, Luke used the speeches of outsiders to provide identity reassurance to a community probably being harassed from different quarters.3

2.

3.

4.

In short, the readers/hearers of Luke–Acts, probably being attacked (by the synagogue?) with respect to their legitimacy both in the religious and political arena, may have seen that the old people of God were legitimated by powerful outsiders. Seeing that in Acts the outsiders played a very similar role, the Christian readers may have reached the conclusion that in the present they were the people of God: as God had acted in the past so he works in the present. I believe that this suggestion fits in well with Luke’s stated purpose as worded in the Gospel’s preface (Lk. 1.4).

See especially Jacob Jervell, The Theology of the Acts of the Apostles (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), pp. 11–115. 3 The logic of my argument is as follows: a similar literary technique built upon the same historiographic/theological foundation may imply a similar situation on the part of both groups of readers. 2

Conclusions 8.3

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The speeches of outsiders and the historiographic orientation of Luke–Acts

In a recent publication Loveday Alexander has pointed out the illegitimate leap that many authors take from topos to genre in their parallel historiographic studies of Luke–Acts. She states: I think it is fair to ask whether the parallels that emerge from comparative readings of Acts alongside various types of Greek historiography are necessarily indications of genre. Too often there is a kind of illegitimate totality transfer … which encourages the leap from topos or motif to genre.4 I believe that this criticism is on target. Too often one comes across studies suggesting that the fact that Acts contains elements such as prefaces, speeches, or letters establishes its generic affiliation with Greco-Roman history (to cite one generic candidate that is often brought forward). The problem with this manner of identifying the genre of Acts is that there are other genres – the ancient Greek novel, for example – that also contain prefaces, speeches, or letters. If one wants a more convincing identification of Acts’ genre (or, as in the case of this project, the historiographic orientation of Acts), it is necessary to ‘find a more sophisticated vocabulary for analysing literary parallels, one that can distinguish genre-specific features from other cultural topoi, and one that takes as much account of the formal points of differentiation between genres as of their similarities’.5 I would suggest that by comparing the functions of the speeches of outsiders in Acts to those of outsiders in Jewish narrative literature, a ‘more sophisticated vocabulary’ has been employed to explore the historiographic horizon of Luke. To be sure, what was discovered was a topos, that is, the speeches of outsiders are used to forward the authors’ theologies. Nevertheless, this is the kind of topos that goes beyond mere formalistic similarities since it serves as a grid to appreciate a basic aspect of one’s worldview, namely, one’s conception of the outsider.6 As such, this comparative aspect of my study takes us much closer to the historiographic moors of Luke. 4 Loveday Alexander, Acts in its Ancient Literary Context: A Classicist Looks at the Acts of the Apostles (London: T&T Clark, 2005), p. 16. 5 Ibid. 6 A political analogy is useful here: one can often learn a great deal of a candidate’s fundamental political perspective by focusing on his or her views on foreign policy (which includes enemies as well as allies).

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The next step in this type of comparative reading would be to compare the speeches of outsiders in classical, Hellenistic, and Roman histories to those of Acts. Obviously such a project is beyond the bounds of this work. Nevertheless, to conclude this project I venture the following brief comparative reading in the hope that it may stimulate future work. What function(s) do the speeches of ‘outsiders’ play in an author such as Thucydides?7 In order to begin to answer this question, another series of preliminary questions must be asked: what is Thucydides’ point of view (otherwise, it is not possible to speak intelligently of outsiders to Thucydides’ point of view)? Are we talking about his point of view in general, that is, his overall philosophy of life, or his point of view on the Peloponnesian war? If we focus on the latter, what method should we employ in assessing it: narrative asides, authorial intrusions, speeches?8 Is it even likely that we would be able to extract with any assurance Thucydides’ point of view given his firm commitment to objectivity? The fact that we have so many thorny questions to 7 I focus on Thucydides for two reasons: first, from the papyri discovered in the eastern part of the Mediterranean, Thucydides’ history has yielded the most fragments from among the historians (see Teresa Morgan, Literate Education in the Hellenistic and Roman Worlds [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998]). Secondly, in Hellenistic tertiary education, it was Thucydides’ work that was most read among prose writers. Marrou states, ‘l’école hellénistique accepte cependant la prose, mais à une place nettement secondaire. Il s’agit essentiellement des historiens … ce sont Hérodote, Xenophon, Hellanicos, et surtout Thucydide’ (Marrou, Histoire de l’éducation, p. 246; emphasis added). On the study of Thucydides in higher education in antiquity, see more recently Craig A. Gibson, ‘Learning Greek History in the Ancient Classroom: The Evidence of the Treatises on Progymnasmata’, CP 99 (2004): 103–29; Cribiore, Gymnastics of the Mind, p. 144. Thus, as a matter of material evidence, Thucydides’ availability for an author of the first century CE is more probable than, say, Polybius’. 8 Although the speeches may seem like a plausible candidate, Simon Hornblower’s caution must be borne in mind: ‘The speeches are treacherous evidence on this [stasis] as on all topics.’ And further, with respect to Spartan policy: ‘Naturally Thucydides was aware of Sparta’s slowness and proneness to suspect the motives of others. But it is a capital error to mistake the abuse of Sparta, which Thucydides puts into the mouths of certain speakers, for Thucydides’ own views’ (Simon Hornblower, Thucydides [London: Duckworth, 1987], pp. 162, 163). Hornblower’s approach is to rely solely on authorial intrusions to construct Thucydides’ opinions: ‘It cannot be emphasised enough that the few authorial comments by Thucydides, and only such comments, are the evidence from which we can hope to reconstruct Thucydides’ own opinions’ (p. 163). I generally follow Hornblower’s approach, although it seems somewhat too strict: can we not gain sure knowledge of Thucydides’ own point of view on the Athenians’ hope for success from the speech of Pericles, especially 2.60–4? See in this respect H. D. Westlake, Individuals in Thucydides (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1968), pp. 23–42. See also David Gribble, ‘Narrator Interventions in Thucydides’, JHS 118 (1998): 41–67.

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answer in order to address the issue of the outsider may in itself suggest that Thucydides and Acts operate in different historiographic milieus. Nevertheless, I give two examples below that may help to assess Thucydides’ use of the speeches of outsiders in his work. In 1.23.6, Thucydides, in his own authorial voice, gives his explanation for the outbreak of the Peloponnesian war: ‘The truest explanation, although it has been the least often advanced, I believe to have been the growth of the Athenians to greatness, which brought fear to the Lacedaemonians and forced them to war.’ It is interesting to note that in 1.68–71 the Corinthians give a speech urging the Lacedaemonians to start a war against Athens partly on the basis of the growth of Athenian power. Thus, the Corinthians voice Thucydides’ own point of view. However, it would be extremely difficult to sustain an argument suggesting that Thucydides viewed the Corinthians as outsiders to his point of view. Even though Thucydides himself was an Athenian, this does not mean that he held the Corinthians, who were not part of the Athenian allies, as opponents of his point of view. In fact, Thucydides could even express admiration for the archenemy of Athens, the Spartans.9 One potentially fruitful place where we can explore the function of the speeches of outsiders in Thucydides is in the speeches of Cleon. It is a consensus in Thucydidean scholarship that Cleon was disliked by Thucydides.10 It is all the more fascinating, therefore, that in Cleon’s speech in the Mitylene debate (3.37–40), strong echoes of Pericles’ ideas – ideas to which Thucydides probably gave assent – are heard (e.g. 2.63). Hornblower concludes: ‘It is a curious but undeniable feature of Kleon’s speech that it contains much that Thucydides himself, who disliked the man, seems to have agreed with.’11 Is this an example of using the opponent to voice the author’s own ideology? I would argue, rather, that Thucydides did not view Cleon as an opponent, if by that we mean someone who opposes one’s fundamental point of view. There is no doubt that Thucydides disliked Cleon: but does that mean that he disagreed with him with regard to the place of Athens in the Peloponnesian war? One may dislike someone or be bothered by certain traits, but it does not follow that one could still not agree with that person’s view on a particular policy. Hornblower again concludes: ‘The fact, if it is a fact, that he [Thucydides] endorses See, for example, 1.18. 10 See Westlake, Individuals in Thucydides, pp. 60–2. Simon Hornblower, A Commentary on Thucydides, 2 vols. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997), Vol. 1, p. 423. 9

11

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some of what Kleon says, and the fact that he explores the idea of assembly sophistry by giving telling sentiments to Kleon whom he disliked, imply some respect for the man.’12 The two examples above have been used to show just how complex it is to detect with certainty the ‘outsider’ in a historian (perhaps the historian) of the Greek tradition. In fact, it seems that, at least with classical historians, it is very difficult to adjudicate between the protagonist and the antagonist.13 This is clearly not the case, as we have seen, in Jewish and Christian historiography: those who follow Yahweh or Jesus are protagonists while those who do not are automatically branded as opponents. Is it possible that the religious particularity of Jewish and Christian historiography may cause it to operate from a different stance than classical historiography? Would these differences subside when we move to a comparison of Acts with Hellenistic and Roman historians? It may be that the rubric of the outsider may help in exploring these questions.

Hornblower, Thucydides, p. 167, n. 51. This is well illustrated in Herodotus, who, although Greek, had no qualms in speaking positively about barbarians. This rigorous objectivity clearly bothered Plutarch, who accused the historian of treating the barbarians with charity while smearing the Greeks, his own people (On the Malice of Herodotus 857–74). Hornblower has made the plausible suggestion that one of the factors that helped Herodotus and Thucydides to be impartial was their exile: ‘How did they achieve this detachment? The answer is that, like so many of the great historians of Greece and Rome, they were both exiles, Herodotus from Halikarnassos and Thucydides from Athens; as Sir Ronald Syme remarks, “exile may be the making of an historian”’ (Thucydides, p. 27). 12 13

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SCRIPTURE INDEX

Old Testament Exodus 33.16 Leviticus 18.24 Deuteronomy 23.3 Joshua 24.1–13 Judges 17.4 1 Samuel 5 5.2 2 Samuel 11.14–15 1 Kings 1.16 5.1–9 30.22 2 Kings 25 Ezra 1.1 1.1–4 4.1 4.4 5.3–4 6.1–12 6.9 6.14 6.22 7.1–26 7.23 7.27 Nehemiah

256

2 2 84 122 169 57 57 201 219 102 219 70 2, 47, 53 44, 47, 52 45 45 52 44 50 47, 53 53 44 51, 54 53

3.1 6.5–7 12.39 Psalms 1.1 Isaiah 44.28 45.5–6 46.6 Jeremiah 10.4 29.11 31.38 49.1–6 Ezekiel 16.17 25.1–7 Daniel 1.2 1.15 1.20 2.19b–23 2.19 2.20–3 2.47 2.46–7 3.15 3.95–6 3.96 4.34 6.16 6.25–7 6.27 Habakkuk 3.19

190 201 190 219 47 54 170 170 47 190 84 170 84 56, 57 57 57 57, 58 58 62 58, 62 55 59 55, 59 62 55, 62 60 55 62 72

Scripture index

257

New Testament Matthew 27.1–2 27.11–14 Mark 15.2–5 Luke 10.11 19.47 20.1–47 21.5–6 21.12–15 22.25–6 22.66–71 23.1–5 23.2 23.5 Acts 1.4–9 1.8 1.18 3.1–10 4.1–7.60 4.13 5.1–11 5.17–42 5.17–33 5.17–20 5.17–18 5.17 5.18 5.19 5.20 5.21 5.22–6 5.24 5.25 5.26 5.27–33 5.27 5.28 5.29–32 5.29 5.31 5.32 5.33 5.34 5.35–9 5.35 5.36–7 5.36 5.37 5.38–9

221 221 221 135 108 108 108 225 2 108 221 221 221 143 108, 119, 136, 158, 192 217 108 106 109, 112 170, 217 106–34, 190, 206 116, 119 116, 192 112 112, 134 108, 116 193 111, 113, 192 111, 117 117 112 111, 118 112, 113 118 119 112 109, 111, 112 119 115, 119 111, 119, 120 107, 119, 120, 134 113, 114 111 121–2 122, 124 122–3 121, 123 122, 125, 128

5.38 124, 125 5.39 125, 126 5.40–2 111 5.40 112 5.41 111 5.42 111, 127, 130, 132, 188 7.54 120 8.9–24 170 8.29 136 9.1–18 136 9.1–9 143 9.15 225 10.9–16 140 10.19 136 12.5–17 190, 192 12.6–11 116 13 139 13.1–3 164 13.2 135–6 13.4–14.28 135 13.4 136 13.13–52 163 13.28 222 13.45 116, 148 14.22 136 15.14–18 150 16.6–10 136, 164 16.6 135 16.7 136 16.15 141 16.16–24 170, 217 16.16 136 16.19–22 138 16.19–21 221 16.20–1 5 16.23–34 192 16.24–7 116 16.25–34 190 16.30–4 193 16.30–3 193 17.3 140 17.5–8 138 17.5–7 156 17.6–7 5, 221 17.10–14 137 17.16–33 137 18.1–18 135, 137, 143, 152, 153, 206 18.1–17 146–7 18.1–8 158 18.1–4 145 18.1–3 147 18.1 137

258

Scripture index

Acts (cont.) 18.2 18.3 18.4–8 18.4 18.5–8 18.5 18.6 18.7 18.8 18.9–10 18.9 18.10 18.11 18.12–17 18.12–13 18.13 18.14–15 18.14 18.15 18.16–17 18.17 18.18 18.19–21 18.21 18.24–20.1 18.24–19.7 18.26 19.1 19.9–22 19.10 19.17 19.21 19.23–41 19.23–40 19.24 19.25–7 19.25–6 19.25 19.26 19.27 19.28–40 19.29–32 19.29 19.30 19.31 19.32 19.33–4 19.34 19.35–40 19.35–6 19.35

141 139, 141 138 140, 141, 147 143, 146 140, 147 140, 141 142 141, 143, 147–50 136, 140, 146, 150–1, 159, 188 143 151 150, 151 138, 146, 151–3 221 142, 152, 153, 154, 155, 156 152, 153, 154 156, 161 154, 157, 160, 204 152 144, 145, 157 141, 152, 153, 159 141 164 163–4 163 141 164 163 181 181 186–7 167, 175, 206–7 164–88 169, 170, 171 170, 178–82 170 178 178, 180, 181 170–1, 179 164, 168 182 167, 169, 173 169 172 173 173 173 12, 162, 182–7 174, 175, 185 183–4

19.36 19.37 19.38–9 19.38 19.40 20.1 21–28 21.31–6 21.31–2 21.31 21.33 21.34 21.35 21.40 22.3 22.14 22.17–12 22.22–9 22.22–3 22.30 23–8 23.6 23.11 23.12–35 23.12 23.14–15 23.14 23.15 23.20–1 23.21 23.22–5 23.25 23.26–30 23.27 23.29 23.30 23.35 24.1–27 24.2–8 24.2–3 24.5 24.6 24.7 24.8 24.10–21 24.12 24.13–21 24.14 24.22–7 24.22 24.23 24.25–6 24.27

184 174, 184, 185, 187 174, 184 184 174, 186 182 190 196 195 191, 220 191 192 191 160, 191 160 160 143 196 192 195 209 160 136, 143, 197, 200, 204, 205 190–207 193, 194, 198, 200, 204 193, 194 198–9 194 193, 194 199 195 200 196 196 155, 204, 209 194 207 207–24 211–12 218 219, 221 220 227 220 212–14 212, 220 212 160 215–16 214 209, 214–15 195 209–10

Scripture index 25.8 25.9 25.10 25.18–19 25.18 25.19 25.20 25.23–26.32 25.23–7 25.23 25.24–5 25.25 25.26–7 26.1 26.2–3 26.28 26.29 26.30–2 26.31–2 26.31 28.21–2

259 155 226, 227 227 227 226 226 226 230 224–31 224 230 229, 230 224, 230 225 160, 229 229 210, 225 231 204 227 5

Romans 16.3 13.2 1 Corinthians 1.12 1.14 4.12 16.6 16.9 Philippians 1.12–18 1.12–14 Colossians 4.14 2 Timothy 2.9 4.19 James 4.6 1 John 3.20

141 148 18 143, 146 139 126 141 120 210 4 120 141 148 126

INDEX OF ANCIENT AUTHORS

1 Maccabees 1.21–4 1.64 5.62 6.1–7 6.8–13 6.10–13 8.1–16 11.30–7 12.19–23 15.21 2 Maccabees 1.11–17 3.4 3.5 3.9–11 3.12 3.23–8 3.34 3.35–40 4.43–50 6.12–16 7.17–19 11.16–21 3 Maccabees 1.1–5 2.21–3 2.27–4.21 3.11–30 4.14–20 4.21 5.1–5 5.7 5.11–12 5.28 6.3 6.15 6.28 6.36 7.6

260

67–70 66 66 68 67–70 64 65 201 201 219 66 70 70 71 71 71 71 71–3 66 66 66 201 74 74 75 201 78 78 75 79 75 78 79 78 75 78 79

7.9 7.22 7.23 Appian 1.4 2.44 3.1–4 11.66 Aristotle The Art of Rhetoric 1.3.4 2.1.5–7 3.14.7 3.14.12 Rhetoric to Alexander 3.20 29.1 Cassius Dio 62.25 Chariton 3.4.1–18 8.4 Cicero Against Verres 1.1.1 On the Orator 276.311 276.332 Demetrius On Style 228 Digest 48.3.1 48.19.8.13 Dionysius of Halicarnassus On Thucydides 42

79 78 75, 78 219 137 219 68 179 121 121 121 178 183 144 168 201 216 125 125

201 209 192 202

Index of ancient authors Dio Chrysostom Discourses 46.14 48.1–38 Diodorus Siculus 16.84.3 31.18 34.1.3–4 Epictetus Discourses 3.23.8 Eupolemus Fragment Two 32.1–2 Greek Esther Addition E 10–16 Greek Esther Addition F 4–9 Heliodorus Ethiopia 2.21.6 Herodotus 1.26 3.40 Josephus Against Apion 2.52–6 2.95 11.336 Jewish Antiquities 1.14 2.253 2.259 2.266 2.270 2.293 3.322 4.176–93 7.20 7.36 8.50–5 11.333–5 12.354–9 13.62–8 13.69 13.70–1 14.196–267 14.306–23 14.310

183 183 168 68 65

224 102

99–100 100

224 166 201

76 65 72 89 218 218 208 208 94 98 90 208 208 201 94 68 91 92 91 90 90 126

261 15.331 16.30–57 16.41 16.47 16.57 17.161–5 17.355 18.9–24 18.91–2 18.279–83 20.97–8 20.135 20.141–4 20.162–7 20.182 20.185–8 20.189–95 20.211–12 Jewish War 1.9–12 1.75 1.401 1.617 2.17 2.21 2.245 2.253 2.253–6 2.259 2.261–3 2.344–407 3.50–4 3.354 3.363–8 3.494–6 4.179 5.36 5.228–41 5.243 5.244 5.257 5.367 5.378 6.93 7.46–53 7.107–11 7.323–36 7.341–8 7.254–5 15.409 The Life 13 414 422–9

208 90 90 90 90 168 123 123 191 94 123 228 215 216 216, 228 228 228 228 93 191 191 208 208 228 228 216 228 216 216 228 93 96–7 96 93 93, 97 228 190–1 191 191 93 93, 97 97 191 168 168 95–8 95–8 95–6 191 216 208 91

262

Index of ancient authors

Judith 1.11 2.12 3.8 5.3–4 5.17–21 8.1 8.4–6 8.7 13.18 14.7 15.8–10 16.6 16.21–5 Letter of Aristeas 34–40 83–104 105–20 176–7 187–294 Lucian How to Write History 50 Pausanias 2.1 Philo Embassy to Gaius 120 128–9 162–6 Pliny Natural History 16.79.213–15 Plutarch Lives 6.3 19.4 Moralia 45 522 E 937 D On the Malice of Herodotus 857–74

80 81 81 84 84–7 81 81 81 83 83 83 83 83 201 101 101 101 101

Pseudo–Hecataeus Fragment Three 1–15

102

Quintilian On the Orator’s Education 3.8.6–9 121 3.8.10 121 3.8.13 121 3.8.66 122 5.11–12 122 10.1.47 12, 162, 182–7 Sallust Jugurtha 24 Catiline 35 Seneca Naturales Quaestiones Preface 4 Strabo 14.1.24

201 201 144 165

36 137 77 77 77 184 219 219 224 224 224 240

Tacitus Annals 1.2 5.8 12.54 The Histories 5.9 Thucydides 1.13–14 1.23.6 1.68–71 1.68–78 1.80–6 1.128–9 1.137 2.54.3 2.60–4 3.37–40 7.14–15

216 65 216 216 137 239 239 7, 135 7 201 201 219 238 239 201

GENERAL INDEX

Abel, F.M. 65, 66, 69 Abrams, M.H. 11 Ackroyd, Peter 44 Agrippa II 228–9 Alexander, L.C.A. 3, 7, 13, 42–3, 68, 130–1, 139, 140, 217, 237 Anderson, H. 65, 75, 78 Antonia fortress 190–1 Arnold, Clinton 167 Artemis, temple of 165 Asiarchs 172–3 Attridge, Harold 89, 90, 91 Auerbach, Eric 109 Austin, J.L. 205 Barclay, J.M.G. 89, 181 Barrett, C.K. 73, 114, 117, 120, 122, 123, 125, 139, 144, 145, 152, 164, 170, 183, 185, 194, 197, 200, 212, 213, 215, 225, 227, 229, 230 Bartlett, J.R. 70 Bauman, Richard 222 Baur, F.C. 17–22 Bayer, Hans 5 Bell, Idris H. 219 Berger, Klaus 17 Berlin, Adele 194 Bickerman, Elias 48, 50, 51, 64–7, 70, 71, 72–3, 76 Bieber, Margaret 167 Bilde, Per 89 Blenkinsopp, Joseph 49 Boatwright, Mary 167 Bourquin, Yvan 8, 15, 134 Bremond, Claude 46 Bruce, F.F. 25–7, 38, 117, 122, 123, 139, 142, 152, 157–8, 174, 194, 210, 212, 221 Burford, Alison 139 Burrell, B. 208–9

Cadbury, Henry 23–5, 203 Caesarea Maritima, see Herod’s praetorium calumnia 156 Camery-Hoggat, Jerry 118, 128 Cassidy, Richard 195 Castells, Manuel 1 Clarke, Andrew D. 149 Claudius Lysias 195–6 Clines, D.J.A. 50 coercitio 195 Cohen, S.J.D. 89 Collins, J.J. 56, 60, 70, 103 Conzelmann, Hans 31, 39, 123, 127, 130, 142, 146 Corinth 137–8 covenantal nomism 88 Craven, Toni 82 Cribiore, Raffaella 12, 238 crimen maiestas 220, 222 crowds, function in Acts 113, 173–4 Culpepper, Alan 109 Cunningham, Scott 120 Darr, John A. 109, 113, 114, 133, 195 Davie, Philip 58–9 Davila, James 88 Dawsey, James 11 Demetrius the silversmith 169–71 De Vaux, Roland 48, 50 Dibelius, Martin 27–33, 233 Dodd, C.H. 39 Doran, Robert 72 dramatic irony in Acts 128–30, 159–61, 179–82, 205–6, 223 definition of 13–14 in Jewish literature 54, 73 dreams, see visions Dubarle, A.M. 85

263

264

General index

Duke, Paul 131 Dunn, J.D.G. 88 Eckey, Wilfred 124 education, ancient 12–13, 238 Emmett, C.W. 76 Engel, Helmut 82 Enslin, Morton 84 Ephesus 164–5 Eskenazi, Tamara 44, 46 Fanning, Buist 178 Fantham, Elaine 12 Feldman, Louis H. 98 Festus 226–8 Fewell, Dana 56, 57, 59 Finegan, Jack 190 Fitzmyer, Joseph 127, 154 Fornara, C.W. 7 Friesen, Steven J. 166, 172 Gallio 144–5 Gamaliel 114–15 Garnsey, Peter 192, 225 Gasque, W.W. 17, 19, 32 Gaventa, Beverly 10, 40, 159, 199, 206, 215, 221, 227, 229 Genette, Gérard 116–17, 146 genre of Acts 3–4 Gibson, Craig 238 Gill, David W.J. 137 Gleason, Kathryn 208 God-fighters 126 Goldingay, John E. 57, 59, 62–3 Goldstein, Jonathan 64, 65, 66 Good, Edwin 63 Goodspeed, E.J. 142 Gowler, David B. 110–15, 195 Grabbe, Lester L. 44, 47, 50 grammateus 174–5 Grässer, Erich 6 Green, Joel 22 Gregory, Andrew 10 Gribble, David 238 Gruen, Erich S. 4, 65, 75, 77 Günther, Mathias 165 Hadas, Moses 75 Haenchen, Ernst 17, 31, 83, 123, 125, 127, 142, 146, 151, 169, 180, 197, 205 Halliwell, Stephen 195 Hansen, G. Walter 6 Harris, Horton 18, 22 Hemer, Colin J. 38, 184

Hengel, Martin 12, 64 Henze, Matthias 62 Herod’s praetorium 207–10 historiography deuteronomistic 67, 73–4, 84–6, 89–90 Greek 238–40 Jewish 240 positivist 2–3 Hoglund, Kenneth G. 51–2 Holladay, Carl R. 102 Holleaux, Maurice 68 Hornblower, Simon 238–40 Hubbard, Benjamin 144 Hubbard, Moyer 145 imperium 50, 155 In der Smitten, W. Th. 45 Jerusalem temple, function in Acts 108 Jervell, Jacob 43, 116, 119, 136, 138, 140, 150, 152, 171, 200, 215, 220 Johnson, Luke Timothy 10, 117, 143, 145, 152, 154, 169, 170, 194, 197, 217, 229 Johnson, Sara Raup 76 Jones, A.H.M. 137, 156, 168 Judge, E.A. 202–3 Kasher, Aryeh 76 Kaufmann, Frank 17, 20 Kearsley, R.A. 172–3 Kelber, Werner 11 Kellogg, Robert 109 Kelly, J.M. 211 Kennedy, George A. 12–13, 128, 179, 183, 212, 229 Klauck, Hans-Josef 182 Kloppenborg John S. 170 Knibbe, D. 165 Krodel, Gerhard 146 Kuhrt, Amélie 49, 53 Kurz, William 13 Lacocque, André 57 Laqueur, Richard 92 Lattimore, Steven 201 Lawson, Jack N. 58 Lenglet, A. 56, 59, 61 Lentz, John Clayton 225 Lindner, Helgo 93, 97 Lintott, Andrew 168, 216 Litwak, Kenneth D. 43 Lowenthal, David 1

General index Lösch, Stephen 218 Lüdemann, Gerd 18 Maddox, Robert 204 Magie, David 165, 168, 174 magistrates 216 Marguerat, Daniel 4, 8, 10, 15, 107, 129, 133, 134, 197–8, 230 Marrou, H.I. 12, 238 Marshall, I.H. 123, 140, 145, 150, 151, 177, 227 McGiffert, A.C. 16 McKeever, Michael 22 McLay, Tim 55 Merenlahti, Petri 11 Milne, Pamela J. 83 Modrzejewski, J.M. 76, 77 Moessner, David P. 9 Momigliano, Arnaldo 3 Moore, Carey 82, 84, 99, 100 Moore, S.D. 9, 11 Morgan, Teresa 238 Mowinckel, S. 48 Muecke, D.C. 13 Murphy-O’Connor, Jerome 137 narrative criticism 8–12 and characters 109–10 and plot 5, 134 and settings 107 Neagoe, Alexandru 177, 217 Neyrey, Jerome 212 Nickelsburg, George 83 North, J.L. 157 Novick, Peter 3, 18 Noy, David 148–9 Omerzu, Heike 155, 209, 211, 214, 221–2 Oster, Richard 165 O’Toole, Robert 9, 228, 229 Otzen, Benedikt 83 outsiders in Acts 5, 134, 234–5 and apologetics 130–2, 160–2, 187, 235–6 in Jewish literature 103–4 in Thucydides 238–40 Palmer, Darryl 3, 4 Parsons, Mikeal 23 Paul, A. 76 Paul, G.M. 201 Penna, R. 136

265 Penner, Todd 4, 35–8, 101 Pervo, Richard 40, 174, 203 Pesch, Rudolf 112, 136, 142, 214 Philips, Thomas 3 Plümacher, Eckhard 3, 201–3 Powell, Mark A. 8 prison, function of 108, 116–17, 126–7, 189–90, 192–3, 210 provocatio 227, 229 Rae, Murray 30 Rajak, Tessa 92–3, 96, 148–9 Ramsay, W.M. 185 Rapske, Brian 192, 209, 211, 213 rhetoric 12–13 Ricœur, Paul 1, 3 Robinson, Olivia F. 220 Roitman, Alfonso 86–7 Rosner, Brian 3 Rothschild, Clare 30 Rudolph, Wilhelm 48, 197 Rydbeck, Lars 43 Sanders, E.P. 88 Sanders, Jack 141 Satterthwaite, Philip 12 Schille, Gottfried 130, 190 Schnabel, Eckhard 137, 150, 173, 181 Schneckenburger, Matthias 19 Schneider, Gerhard 106, 146, 151, 173 Scholes, Robert 109 Schubert, Paul 204 Schultheß, O. 174 Scott, James 104 Selinger, Richard 176 Shauf, Scott 185 Sherwin-White, A.D. 155, 173, 174, 183, 213, 219–20 Shutt, R.H.J. 101 Skinner, Matthew 209, 210, 224 Soards, Marion 5, 33–5, 121, 154, 178, 229 Sordi, Marta 185 speeches in Acts definition of 5 historicity of 21–2, 23–7, 31–2, 34–5 and letters 200–4 Squires, J.T. 132, 200 Sterling, Gregory 3–4, 91 Sternberg, Meir 198 Stoops, Robert 168, 176–7 Stowers, Stanley 203 Strelan, Rick 166, 167, 171, 181

266

General index

Sumney, J.L. 6 Sykutris, J. 201 synagogue, function of archisynagogoi 148–50 Tajra, Harry 141, 142, 144, 155, 224, 227 Talbert, Charles 9, 122, 164 Tannehill, Robert 9–10, 108, 113, 117, 136, 138, 147, 150, 154, 169, 206, 215, 218, 221, 226 Taylor, L.R. 172 Tcherikover, Victor 76, 101, 104 Theissen, Gerd 149 Thiessen, Verner 171 Thompson, Richard 128 Thomson, J.A.K. 13 Tomson, Peter 125 Torrey, C.C. 48 Towner, Sibley 56, 61 Trebilco, Paul 165 Trumbower, Jeffrey 124, 127, 130 Tyson, Joseph 23

Vincent, L.H. 130, 190 visions, functions of 143–4, 150–1, 199–200 Walaskay, P.W. 145 Walton, Steve 108 Weaver, John 112, 116, 126, 193, 200 Wendt, Hans Hinrich 123 Westlake, H.D. 238 Wiarda, Timothy 111 Wilckens, Ulrich 6, 32 Williams, David 67, 69, 78 Williamson, H.G.M. 45 Wills, Lawrence 56, 82, 184 Wilson, Stephen G. 170 Winter, Bruce 12, 139, 144, 145, 212, 213, 214, 218 Wiseman, James 137 Witherington, Ben 124, 180–1, 185 Zeitlin, Solomon 84 Zenger, Erich 82, 84